on, the initiation into keen, intellectual delights. No matter
what sacrifice was to be made, to college the girl should go. So
declared the parents.

Now all was changed. This blow which robbed her of her father also
shattered her hopes for the future. All this flashed through
Virginia's mind as they sat there, waiting. Turning to her sister, she
said through her tears:

"If the worst happened--Fan--if Dad died--we couldn't go on living
here, could we?"

Fanny shook her head. Sagely she replied:

"No, I'm afraid not. Father's got no insurance. Mother says we've
lived up to everything. I guess I'll have to go to work--"

"So will I," said Virginia quickly.

"What nonsense you talk, Virgie!" interrupted her sister almost
angrily. "As if you were intended for work! Nature intended you to be
a lady, and a lady you'll be if I have to work all the flesh off my
bones. Don't you suppose mother and I haven't talked it over already."
With mock contempt she went on: "You work! What at, I'd like to know.
Giving music lessons or writing articles for the ten-cent magazines!
It's different with 'yours truly.' I'm not a highbrow. I never cared
for books or culture and all that sort of thing. But I guess as a
saleslady in some store I'll make a hit. Anyway, I'll make enough to
keep things going--so there'll be enough for you and mother.
Now--there isn't any use arguing. It's college for yours, Virgie, and
when you graduate you'll marry a millionaire and we'll all be happy
and comfy."

Virginia was about to protest when suddenly there was a commotion
behind them. The bedroom door was abruptly opened and Dr. Everett came
in, supporting Mrs. Blaine, who was weeping bitterly. The two girls
sprang to their feet with a startled cry.

"How's father?" they exclaimed.

Staggering to a chair, Mrs. Blaine clasped both her children to her
breast.

"Your father is in Heaven!" she murmured.

Then she fell prostrate on the sofa, her whole being shaken by
convulsive sobs. Virginia, panic-stricken, darted forward, but the
Doctor held out a restraining hand.

"Don't, child--let her cry. It will do her good."

Chapter II.

"Fanny! Where are my scissors? Did you take my scissors?"

Seated in the centre of the small parlor, before a round table fairly
well lighted by an electrolier suspended from the middle of the
ceiling and littered with chiffons and laces, Mrs. Blaine stopped
sewing and began a laborious search all over the