nd grateful, and after that there was a constant succession of
visitors. Many children came in, all attractive, to Elsie's surprise,
though none so appealing as Mattie Howe; and older people in surprising
numbers, considering Mr. Middleton's prophecy.

But word had somehow gone round that the minister's niece was "tending
library," and things being rather dull in the midsummer pause of most
of the activities of the place, no doubt more than one came out of
curiosity.

It was a very friendly curiosity, however, expressed in the pleasantest
manner, and Elsie found herself responding to their advances without
knowing how. She wondered at herself. The girl did not realize that
being in the library made a difference. It was her first experience of
work, or of doing anything whatever for any one else, so that even the
service of getting out books for another established a sort of
relationship between them. At the close of the afternoon, though
tired, she was strangely happy.

But she couldn't understand it--didn't know herself. She found herself
wondering who the stranger was who had worn her frock and occupied the
chair of the librarian that afternoon. Grandmother Pritchard wouldn't
have recognized her, nor Aunt Ellen. Had she, in assuming another
name, changed her nature also?

CHAPTER IX

Shortly before the death of her aunt in California, Miss Julia
Pritchard had made up her mind to give up her position at the city desk
on her fiftieth birthday, and retire to some pleasant country town to
pass the remainder of her life quietly, in friendly intercourse with
her neighbors. She felt that she had more than enough to "see her
through," as the phrase is, very comfortably. She had worked for over
thirty years, her responsibilities and salary increasing periodically;
and though she had lived and dressed well and given liberally, she had
added each year to a small inheritance that had come to her through her
grandfather, and had gained further by judicious investment.

But when both her aunt and cousin died, and she was left guardian of
the sixteen-year-old Elsie Marley, whose inheritance was small, Miss
Pritchard decided to remain where she was a few years longer. It
wasn't imperative, indeed, yet she felt that the last little Pritchard
should have the best chance she could give her, and until she should
have put her on her feet, the woman of fifty, who was strong and well
and at the height of her powers,