d her in reply and patted the girl's shoulder. "There
_is_ somebody," she sighed to herself. "And they've made up again"--and
a prayer trembled on her lips.

Her joy now became contagious. The expressman noticed it; so did Mrs.
Skitson and the storekeeper. So did Mr. Taylor, who stopped his wagon
and leaned half out to shake her hand.

"You do look wholesome this morning, and no mistake, Miss Abbie" (he
always called her so). "Don't forget what I told you--lots more where
that come from"--and he drove on muttering to himself: "Ain't no finer
woman in Taylorsville than Abbie Todd."

Keep & Co. letters arrived now by almost every mail. With these came
a daily stock-list printed on tissue-paper, giving the sales on the
exchange. Rock Creek was still holding its own between 13 and 15. "From
my brokers," she would say with a smile to Maria, falling into the ways
of the rich.

One of these letters, marked "Private and confidential," she took to
Maria. It was in the writer's own hand and signed by the senior member
of the firm. Literally translated into uncommercial language by that
female financier, it meant that Miss Todd, "_on notice from Keep & Co_."
should write her name at the bottom of the transfer blank on the back
of the certificate and mail it to them. This done they would buy her
another ten shares of stock, using her certificate as additional margin.
There was no question that Rock Creek would sell at forty before the
month ended, and they did not want her to be "left" when the "melon was
cut."

Another and a newer and a more vibrant song now rose to her lips. Forty
for Rock Creek meant four--six--yes, eight hundred dollars--with two
hundred to Mr. Taylor! Yes! Six hundred clear! The scrap of paper in
her bosom was no longer a receipt for money paid, but an Aladdin's lamp
producing untold wealth.

That night the music burst from her lips before she had taken off her
cloak and hat.

"You made six hundred dollars, Abbie! _You!_" cried the mother, with a
note of wonder in her voice.

Then the whole story came out; her mother's arms about her, the pale
cheek touching her own, tears of joy streaming from both their eyes.
First Maria's luck, then that of her fellow-clerks; then the letters,
one after another, spread out upon her lap, the lamp held close, so the
dim eyes could read the easier--down to the stake-money of two hundred
dollars.

"And who gave you that, child? Miss Furgusson?" The mother's heart wa