was in cold
type--"hot type," for that matter, for it was in flaming red--on the
wall, in front of her window.

Abbie lifted her head in surprise when she saw what had been done
without even "By your leave." She had found auction sales, sheriff's
notices and tax warnings opposite her window, but never copper mines.
The longer she looked at it the better she liked it. There was a cheery
bit of color in its blazing letters, and she was partial to bits of
color. That's why she kept plants all winter in the little sitting-room
at home, and nursed one cactus that gave out a scarlet bloom once in so
many months.

It was Miss Maria Furgusson, of Boston--summer boarder at the next
cottage; second floor, six dollars a week, including washing--that
revived, kept alive, in fact, fanned to fever heat, Abbie's first
impression of the poster. Maria called for her mail, and the intimacy
had gone so far that before the week was out "Miss Todd" had been
replaced by "Abbie" and then "Ab," and Miss Furgusson by "Maria"--the
postmistress being too dignified for further abbreviation.

"Oh, there's our lovely copper mine--where did you get it? Who put it
up?"

Maria was a shirt-waisted young woman with a bang and a penetrating
voice. She had charge of the hosiery counter in a department store and
could call "Cash" in tones that brought instant service. This, with her
promptness, had endeared her to many impatient customers--especially
those from out of town who wanted to catch trains. It was through one
of these "hayseeds" that she secured board at so reasonable a price in
Taylorsville during her vacation.

"What do you know about it?" inquired Abbie. Such things were Greek to
her.

"Know? I've got twenty shares, and I'm going to have money to burn
before long."

Abbie bent her head, and took in as much of Miss Furgusson as she could
see through the square hole in her window.

"Who gave it to you?" The idea of a girl like Maria ever having money
enough to buy anything of that kind never occurred to her.

"Nobody; I bought it; paid two dollars a share for it and now it's up
to three, and Mr. Slathers, our floor-walker, says it's going to
twenty-five. I've got a profit of twenty dollars on mine now."

Abbie made a mental calculation; twenty dollars was a considerable part
of her month's salary.

"And everybody in our store has got some. Mr. Slathers has made eight
hundred dollars, and I know for sure that Miss Henders is going t