" he protested.

"You are going to; your eyes show it. Oh, Papa McAlister, you are such a
dear!"

"Am I? Well, my girl, you shall have your way. All in all, I think your
little plan has no harm in it. I was thinking of something else,
though."

"Oh, what?"

He smiled at her disappointed face.

"Nothing bad. It is only this. If your courage holds out, and if you
cultivate that crazy handwriting of yours a little, perhaps when
Sullivan goes to Boston, next fall, I'll see what you can do with my
bills. I can't pay as well as Mr. Huntington; but it may help on a
little."

"Oh, papa!"

Ten minutes later, Theodora looked up into her father's face. Her own
face was flushed, and her lips were unsteady.

"There's something else, papa."

"What now, my girl?"

She drew a letter from her pocket.

"It's not much, only a little bit of a beginning. Nobody knows it, and I
wanted to tell you first."

He took the letter, opened it with a feigned curiosity, more to gratify
her whim than from any real interest in what it could contain. He read
it, glanced at the slip of paper it enclosed, then bent over and kissed
her scarlet cheek.

"My girlie, I congratulate you."

It was a letter from a well-known magazine for children, accepting a
story from Miss Theodora McAlister, and suggesting that another story of
equal merit might find a welcome, later on in the season.

For the next three weeks, Theodora kept the secret of her experiment to
herself.

"It's all right. Papa knows," was all the reply she could be induced to
make to the questions which assailed her from all sides, in regard to
the way she was spending her Saturday mornings.

It would be impossible to say how long the mystery would have been kept
up if she had had her own way. One Saturday noon, however, Phebe came
bouncing into the dining-room, her eyes blazing with righteous
indignation and injured pride.

"Theodora McAlister, I'm ashamed of you, perfectly ashamed!"

"You've said so before," Theodora answered tranquilly, while she went on
eating her dinner. "What is it, this time?"

"You've gone into a store." Phebe's tone was one of scathing scorn.

"Yes. What of it?"

"My sister a clerk in a common store!"

"Yes, in Huntington's."

"But it might have been a grocery."

"It might have been an undertaker's," Theodora answered sharply. "I
don't see what difference it makes to you."

"Is this really true, Teddy?" Mrs. McAlister questioned.

Theod