n was
one of incredulity; her second, of unaffected and humble wonder that any
verses of hers should have been so well spoken of; and her next, of
childlike glee at the possibility of her earning any money. She had not a
trace of the false pride which had crystallized in her mother's nature
into such a barrier against the idea of a paid industry.

"O Mr. Allen!" she exclaimed, "is it really possible? Do you think the
verses were really worth it? Are you quite sure the editor did not send
the money because the verses were written by a friend of yours?"

Harley Allen laughed.

"Editors are not at all likely, Mercy," he said, "to pay any more for
things than the things are worth. I think you will some day laugh
heartily, as you look back upon the misgivings with which you received the
first money earned by your pen. If you will only work faithfully and
painstakingly, you can do work which will be much better paid than this."

Mercy's eyes flashed.

"Oh! oh! Then I can have books and pictures, and take journeys," she said
in a tone of such ecstasy that Mr. Allen was surprised.

"Why, Mercy," he replied, "I did not know you were such a discontented
girl. Have you always longed for all these things?"

"I'm not discontented, Mr. Allen," answered Mercy, a little proudly. "I
never had a discontented moment in my life. I'm not so silly. I have never
yet seen the day which did not seem to me brimful and running over with
joys and delights; that is, except when I was for a little while bowed
down by a grief nobody could bear up under," she added, with a sudden
drooping of every feature in her expressive face, as she recalled the one
sharp grief of her life. "I don't see why a distinct longing for all sorts
of beautiful things need be in the least inconsistent with absolute
content. In fact, I know it isn't; for I have both."

Mr. Allen was not enough of an idealist to understand this. He looked
puzzled, and Mercy went on,--

"Why, Mr. Allen, I should like to have our home perfectly beautiful, just
like the most beautiful houses I have read about in books. I should like
to have the walls hung full of pictures, and the rooms filled full of
books; and I should like to have great greenhouses full of all the rare
and exquisite flowers of the whole world. I'd like one house like the
house you told me of, full of all the orchids, and another full of only
palms and ferns. I should like to wear always the costliest of silks, very