n any one into her
grave to be told a piece of news that way. You are white, dear, and you
have been left some money, and you ought to be very happy." And with
many pats and kisses she told all of the story that she knew.

Hertha's letter was brief and ended by stating that she had been
bequeathed two thousand dollars, and that, as all legacies left by the
late George Ogilvie were to be paid at once, she was requested to come
at her earliest convenience to the lawyer's office.

"What is she thinking about?" the two women asked themselves as the girl
read her letter and said no word. But could they have looked into her
mind they would have been perplexed to find an answer. Her brain was a
blur of strange, magnificent impressions. A dying mother, an old man
delaying restitution until after his death, money, freedom. As she
looked down at her maid's dress, as she thought of herself last night
crouched under the trees, she drew a deep breath. She was white, of good
name. No one should play with her again and throw her away. In the
multitude of emotions that rushed through her being the one that held
her longest in its grip was pride. No white man now should expect her to
give everything and in return receive only humiliation. "I'm white, I'm
white," she repeated over and over to herself.

"Two thousand dollars is a good deal of money to get all at once,
Hertha--or Miss Ogilvie, as I suppose I ought to say," Miss Witherspoon
remarked, more to take Hertha's mind from herself than anything else. "I
hope you'll use it wisely."

"Some of it," Hertha replied, "belongs to Mammy."

"She'll never touch it," Miss Patty said sharply; and in this she
prophesied aright.

Hertha rose slowly and went into her mistress's bedroom.

"What are you doing?" Miss Patty called out.

"Making your bed," was the answer. "And then, if you don't mind, I'd
like to go home."

Calling the girl to her, Miss Patty rose and said tenderly, "You're your
own mistress now and you mustn't think of work this morning. Pomona can
come upstairs and put things to rights. This has been a terrible
excitement for you, terrible! If only John and Lee were home. How could
they go away this particular morning!"

"I don't see that that makes any difference."

"Yes, of course it does; one needs a man in a case of business. But sit
down, dear, get your sewing and we'll talk about it." Miss Patty settled
herself again. "To think that you're an Ogilvie! Almost as go