hat I was
thinking myself, mother! It can't be--but it is."

"But it's ruined, utterly ruined!"

"Yes, ma'am."

"And you have n't any other that's really decent!"

"No, ma'am."

The woman sighed impatiently. "Helen, how can you answer like that when
you _know_ what it means to spoil that hat? Can't _anything_ dampen your
absurd high spirits?"

"'High spirits'!" breathed the girl. A quick flash leaped to her eyes.
Her lips parted angrily; then, as suddenly, they snapped close shut. In
another minute she had turned and left the room quietly.

Clothed in dry garments a little later, Helen set about the evening's
tasks. At the first turn in the little room that served for both kitchen
and dining-room she found the dinner dishes waiting to be cleared from
the table--and there were unmistakable evidences of codfish-and-cream.
As she expected, she had not long to wait.

"Helen," called a doleful voice from the sitting-room.

"Yes, mother."

"She brought codfish again to-day--five times this week; and you _know_
how I dislike codfish!"

"Yes, I know, dear. I'm so sorry!"

"'Sorry'! But that does n't feed me. You _must_ speak to her, Helen. I
_can't_ eat codfish like that. You must speak to-night when you take the
dishes back."

"Very well, mother; but--well, you know we don't pay very much."

"Then pay more. I'm sure I shouldn't think you'd grudge me enough to
eat, Helen."

"Mother! How can you say a thing like that!" Helen's voice shook. She
paused a moment, a dish half-dried in her hands; but from the other room
came only silence.

Supper that night was prepared with unusual care. There was hot
corncake, too,--Mrs. Raymond liked hot corncake. It was a little late,
it is true; Helen had not planned for the corncake at first--but there
was the codfish. If the poor dear had had nothing but codfish! . . .
Helen opened a jar of the treasured peach preserves, too; indeed, the
entire supper table from the courageous little fern in the middle to the
"company china" cup at Mrs. Raymond's plate was a remorseful apology for
that midday codfish. If Mrs. Raymond noticed this, she gave no sign.
Without comment, she ate the corncake and the peach preserves, and drank
her tea from the china cup; with Mrs. Raymond only the codfish of one's
daily life merited comment.

It was at the supper table that Helen's mother brought out the letter.

"You don't ask, nor seem to care," she began with a curious ai