Salome is gone."

"We will run in no debt we cannot pay, unless we are ill and it is
impossible to help. Hal and I settled that long ago. So far we have
managed, and now he is working too, I feel as rich as--rich."

"Exactly. Amy, if this old house were yours, what would you do with it?"

The answer was prompt and decided.

"Make it into a Home for Mill Girls."

"Whew! What in the world! Fairacres? The proudest old mansion in the
country, or in this part of it! Are you beside yourself?"

"I should be with delight, if I could make that dream a reality."

"I gave you credit for more sense. But, business--that donkey. How much
did Mr. Metcalf intend to pay for it?"

"I suppose the same as he did for Pepita. Seventy-five dollars--burro,
harness, and all."

"At ten dollars a month, that would take you along well into next
summer. Tell Hallam that I will keep the animal and allow him eight
months' rent for it. That's giving you a half month, you see. Will you?"

"Yes, I'll tell him," answered she, with a catch in her voice. "Only I
had hoped to take him home with me. It would have made such a delightful
Christmas for us all. You don't know how much we love those pretty
creatures."

"Pretty! Opinions differ."

"And would it be quite right to make any such arrangements, after having
asked the superintendent to buy it, and he agreeing? Wouldn't he be the
one to say something about it?"

"Amy, you're incorrigible. You're a radical. A thing is either
absolutely right or it is absolutely wrong--according to your standard.
You'll be in trouble as long as you live, for you'll find nobody else
with such antiquated notions as yours. There are a great many things
that are expedient."

"I hate expedient things. I like just the easy, simple 'no' and 'yes'
that was my darling mother's rule. I'm glad I'm at least a birthright
Friend."

Mr. Wingate was silent. He seemed to drop into a profound reverie, and
the girl hesitated to disturb him, eager as she now was to be away.
Finally, as she had made up her mind to speak, he did so himself.

"Amy, do you ever use the plain speech now?"

"Sometimes--between ourselves. For mother's sake we can never let it
die."

"Will thee use it to me now and then? It was the habit of my boyhood.
Salome was my oldest friend. We've played together in this very room,
again and again. She was my good angel. Until--No matter. You are her
child. Not like her at all in face or manner. She was a