e brown--her
eyes large and wistful, her hair light and wavy. She wore no jewelry,
and there was no suggestion of color about her costume. Yet there seemed
a certain lightness and gayety in her face which conveyed the impression
that sadness was not a component factor in her life. She smiled as, hour
after hour, she read to the invalid on the veranda, and seemed actually
to enjoy her task of wheeling the chair back and forth to the Springs in
the rear of the hotel.

Once, when a traveling man who had strayed down to the Springs for a
weekend offered the front clerk a cheap cigar and expressed curiosity as
to the name of the young lady, that obliging encyclopedia explained:

"Oh, that's Miss Farnum. She's old Mrs. Kilpatrick's companion. No, not
a nurse--sort of poor relative, I guess."

[Illustration: "OH, THAT'S MISS FARNUM. SHE'S OLD MRS. KILPATRICK'S
COMPANION."]

Whereupon the aforesaid traveling gentleman, disappointed at the obvious
impossibility of a chance to speak to Miss Farnum, whistled and said:

"Anyhow, she's deuced pretty. I'd like to see her wearing a real gown."

Martha's constant adherence to simple black gowns, however, was due to
two reasons. She wanted every one to know that she was there simply as a
companion: it saved her the necessity of pretending, for other girls of
her own age, guests of the hotel, made no advances of a social nature
which would have required reciprocity. Additionally, and even more
important, black was inexpensive and durable.

For three months, now, Martha Farnum had been the companion of Mrs.
Kilpatrick, a wealthy invalid from Marion, a small town near
Indianapolis. Mrs. Kilpatrick was suffering from sciatic rheumatism, and
her physician had recommended a stay at the Springs. To her objection
that both her sons were too busy to accompany her, and that she knew no
one else who could act as a companion, the doctor had replied:

"I know a person who will be ideal. Her name is Farnum; she's the
daughter of an old friend of mine who has been in hard luck for three
years. Lives on a farm near here. Martha is the eldest girl in a family
of seven, and I know she'll jump at the chance. You'll find her modest,
well-bred and well-educated, with just two faults"--he smiled at Mrs.
Kilpatrick's hesitation--"she's very pretty and very poor."

Martha had been sent for, the arrangements made, and she found herself
for the first time in her life living at a real hotel, with all her