d deepening in her cheeks. "He--he sent her money only
to-day."

"Yes, I know; she told me--of that." Mrs. Mason's voice was significant
in its smoothness. "Your mother said she was going to get her--a tie."

"Yes, a tie," repeated Helen, with feverish lightness; "lace, you know.
Mother does so love pretty things! Oh, and by the way," hurried on the
girl breathlessly, "if you don't mind--about the dinners, you know.
Mother does n't care for codfish-and-cream, and if you could just
substitute something else, I'll pay more, of course! I'd expect to do
that. I've been thinking for some time that you ought to have at least
ten cents a day more--if you could manage--on that. And--thank you; if
you _would_ remember about--the codfish, and now I really must--go!" she
finished. And before Mrs. Mason knew quite what had happened a flying
figure had darted by her through the half-open doorway.

"Well, of all things! _Now_ what have I said?" muttered the puzzled
woman, staring after her visitor. "Ten cents a day more, indeed! And
where, for the land's sake, is the poor lamb going to find that?"

Long hours later in the Raymond flat, after the mending was done, the
waist ironed, and the mother's querulous tongue had been silenced by
sleep, the "poor lamb" sat down with her little account book and tried to
discover just that--where she was going to find the extra ten cents a day
to buy off Mrs. Mason's codfish.

It did not rain the next morning. The sun shone, indeed, as if it never
had rained, and never would rain. In Helen Raymond's soul a deeper shame
than ever sent the blue devils skulking into the farthermost corners--as
if it were anything but a matter for the heartiest congratulations that
one's mother had at least one child who had proved not to be a
disappointment to her! And very blithely, to cheat the last one of the
little indigo spirits, the girl resolutely uptilted her chin, and began
her day.

It was not unlike the days that had gone before. There was the same
apologetic rush in the morning, the same monotonous succession of buyers
and near-buyers at the counter, the same glitter and sparkle and
chatter--the youth, and love, and laughter. Then at night came the
surprise.

Helen Raymond went home to find the little flat dominated by a new
presence, a presence so big and breezy that unconsciously she sniffed the
air as if she were entering a pine grove instead of a stuffy, four-room
city flat.