o leave
the cloak department and set up a typewriting place, because she told me
so; she's got a brother in the feed business who staked her."

"Staked her? What's that?"

"Loaned her the money," answered Maria, a certain pity in her voice for
one so green and countrified.

"How do you get it?" Abbie's eyes were shining like the disks of a brass
letter scale and almost as large--they were still upon Maria.

"The money?"

"No, the stock."

"Why, send Mr. Keep the money and he buys the stock and sends you back
the certificate. Want to see mine? I've got it pinned in--Here it is."

Abbie opened the door of the glass partition and beckoned to the
shopgirl. She rarely allowed visitors inside, but this one seemed to
hold the key to a new world.

The girl slipped her fingers inside her shirtwaist and drew out a square
piece of paper bearing the inscription of the poster in big letters. At
the bottom of the paper a section of cement drain-pipe poured forth a
steady stream of water, and the whole was underlined by a motto meaning
"Peace and Plenty"--of water, no doubt.

Abbie looked at the beautifully engraved document and a warm glow
suffused her face. Was it as easy as this? Did this little scrap of
paper mean rest and the spreading of wings, and freedom for her
mother? Then she caught her breath. She hadn't any brother in the feed
business---nor anywhere else, for that matter. How would she get the
money? She had only her salary; her mother earned little or nothing--the
interest on the mortgage would be due in a day or so; thank God it was
nearly paid off. Then her heart rose in her throat. Mr. Taylor! Why he
was so kind she never knew--but he was. But if he insisted as he had
with the store and the position in the post-office! No--he had done too
much already. Besides, she could never repay him if anything went wrong.
No--this was not her chance for freedom.

Abbie handed the certificate back. "Queer way of making money," was all
she said as she reached for her hat and shawl, and went home to dinner.

That evening after supper, the two crooning over the fire, Abbie talked
it over with her mother--not the stock--not a word of that--but of how
Maria had made a lot of money, and how she wished she had a little of
her own so she could make some, too. This the mother retailed, the next
morning, to her neighbor, who met the expressman, who thereupon sent it
rolling through the village. In both its diluted and enriched