"And look at how I've tried and see what it has come to—Bessie so high-headed and airy she makes fun of us, and Fred a gambler and a drunkard, and 'most a thief. And it's all that horrid hundred thousand dollars!"

The book in Mr. Smith's hand slipped to the floor with a bang; but no one was noticing Mr. Smith.

"Oh, Hattie, don't blame the hundred thousand dollars," cried Miss Maggie.

"Jim says it was, and Fred does, too. They talked awfully. Fred said it was all just the same kind of a way that I'd tried to make folks call Jim 'James.' He said I'd been trying to make every single 'Jim' we had into a 'James,' until I'd taken away all the fun of living. And I suppose maybe he's right, too." Mrs. Hattie sighed profoundly. "Well, anyhow, I'm not going to do it any more. There isn't any fun in it, anyway. It doesn't make any difference how hard I tried to get ahead, I always found somebody else a little 'aheader' as Benny calls it. So what's the use?"

"There isn't any use—in that kind of trying, Hattie."

"No, I suppose there isn't. Jim said I was like the little boy that they asked what would make him the happiest of anything in the world, and he answered, 'Everything that I haven't got.' And I suppose I have been something like that. But I don't see as I'm any worse than other folks. Everybody goes for money; but I'm sure I don't see why—if it doesn't make them any happier than it has me! Well, I must be going." Mrs. Hattie rose wearily. "We shall begin to pack the first of the month. It looks like a mountain to me, but Jim and Fred say they'll help, and—"

Mr. Smith did not hear any more, for Miss Maggie and her guest had reached the hall and had closed the door behind them. But when Miss Maggie returned, Mr. Smith was pacing up and down the room nervously.

"Well," he demanded with visible irritation, as soon as she appeared, "will you kindly tell me if there is anything—desirable—that that confounded money has done?"

Miss Maggie looked up in surprise.

"You mean—Jim Blaisdell's money?" she asked.

"I mean all the money—I mean the three hundred thousand dollars that those three people received. Has it ever brought any good or happiness—anywhere?"

"Oh, yes, I know," smiled Miss Maggie, a little sadly. "But—" Her countenance changed abruptly. A passionate earnestness came to her eyes. "Don't blame the money—blame the SPENDING of it! The money isn't to blame. The dollar that will buy tickets to the movies will just as quickly buy a good book; and if you're hungry, it's up to you whether you put your money into chocolate eclairs or roast beef. Is the MONEY to blame that goes for a whiskey bill or a gambling debt instead of for shoes and stockings for the family?"

"Why, n-no." Mr. Smith had apparently lost his own irritation in his amazement at hers. "Why, Miss Maggie, you—you seem worked up over this matter."

"I am worked up. I'm always worked up—over money. It's been money, money, money, ever since I could remember! We're all after it, and we all want it, and we strain every nerve to get it. We think it's going to bring us happiness. But it won't—unless we do our part. And there are some things that even money can't buy. Besides, it isn't the money that does the things, anyway,—it's the man behind the money. What do you think money is good for, Mr. Smith?"

Mr. Smith, now thoroughly dazed, actually blinked his eyes at the question, and at the vehemence with which it was hurled into his face.

"Why, Miss Maggie, it—it—I—I—"

"It isn't good for anything unless we can exchange it for something we want, is it?"

"Why, I—I suppose we can GIVE it—"

"But even then we're exchanging it for something we want, aren't we? We want to make the other fellow happy, don't we?"

"Well, yes, we do." Mr. Smith spoke with sudden fervor. "But it doesn't always work that way. Look at the case right here. Now, very likely this—er—Mr. Fulton thought those three hundred thousand dollars were going to make these people happy. Personification of happiness—that woman was, a few minutes ago, wasn't she?" Mr. Smith had regained his air of aggrieved irritation.

"No, she wasn't. But that wasn't the money's fault. It was her own. She didn't know how to spend it. And that's just what I mean when I say we've got to do our part—money won't buy happiness, unless we exchange it for the things that will bring happiness. If we don't know how to get any happiness out of five dollars, we won't know how to get it out of five hundred, or five thousand, or five hundred thousand, Mr. Smith. I don't mean that we'll get the same amount out of five dollars, of course,—though I've seen even that happen sometimes!—but I mean that we've got to know how to spend five dollars—and to make the most of it."

"I reckon—you're right, Miss Maggie."

"I know I'm right, and 't isn't the money's fault when things go wrong. Money's all right. I love money. Oh, yes, I know—we're taught that the love of money is the root of all evil. But I don't think it should be so—necessarily. I think money's one of the most wonderful things in the world. It's more than a trust and a gift—it's an opportunity, and a test. It brings out what's strongest in us, every time. And it does that whether it's five dollars or five hundred thousand dollars. If—if we love chocolate eclairs and the movies better than roast beef and good books, we're going to buy them, whether they're chocolate eclairs and movies on five dollars, or or— champagne suppers and Paris gowns on five hundred thousand dollars!"

"Well, by—by Jove!" ejaculated Mr. Smith, rather feebly.

Miss Maggie gave a shamefaced laugh and sank back in her chair.

"You don't know what to think of me, of course; and no wonder," she sighed. "But I've felt so bad over this—this money business right here under my eyes. I love them all, every one of them. And YOU know how it's been, Mr. Smith. Hasn't it worked out to prove just what I say? Take Hattie this afternoon. She said that Fred declared she'd been trying to make every one of her 'Jims' a 'James,' ever since the money came. But he forgot that she did that very same thing before it came. All her life she's been trying to make five dollars look like ten; so when she got the hundred thousand, it wasn't six months before she was trying to make that look like two hundred thousand."

"I reckon you're right."

"Jane is just the opposite. Jane used to buy ingrain carpets and cheap chairs and cover them with mats and tidies to save them."

"You're right she did!"

Miss Maggie laughed appreciatively.

"They got on your nerves, too, didn't they? Such layers upon layers of covers for everything! It brought me to such a pass that I went to the other extreme. I wouldn't protect ANYTHING—which was very reprehensible, of course. Well, now she has pretty dishes and solid silver—but she hides them in bags and boxes, and never uses them except for company. She doesn't take any more comfort with them than she did with the ingrain carpets and cheap chairs. Of course, that's a little thing. I only mentioned it to illustrate my meaning. Jane doesn't know how to play. She never did. When you can't spend five cents out of a hundred dollars for pleasure without wincing, you needn't expect you're going to spend five dollars out of a hundred thousand without feeling the pinch," laughed Miss Maggie.

"And Miss Flora? You haven't mentioned her," observed Mr. Smith, a little grimly.

Miss Maggie smiled; then she sighed.

"Poor Flora—and when she tried so hard to quiet her conscience because she had so much money! But YOU know how that was. YOU helped her out of that scrape. And she's so grateful! She told me yesterday that she hardly ever gets a begging letter now."

"No; and those she does get she investigates," asserted Mr. Smith. "So the fakes don't bother her much these days. And she's doing a lot of good, too, in a small way."

"She is, and she's happy now," declared Miss Maggie, "except that she still worries a little because she is so happy. She's dismissed the maid and does her own work—I'm afraid Miss Flora never was cut out for a fine-lady life of leisure, and she loves to putter in the kitchen. She says it's such a relief, too, not to keep dressed up in company manners all the time, and not to have that horrid girl spying 'round all day to see if she behaves proper. But Flora's a dear."

"She is! and I reckon it worked the best with her of any of them."

"WORKED?" hesitated Miss Maggie.

"Er—that is, I mean, perhaps she's made the best use of the hundred thousand," stammered Mr. Smith. "She's been—er—the happiest."

"Why, y-yes, perhaps she has, when you come to look at it that way."

"But you wouldn't—er—advise this Mr. Fulton to leave her—his twenty millions?"

"Mercy!" laughed Miss Maggie, throwing up both hands. "She'd faint dead away at the mere thought of it."

"Humph! Yes, I suppose so." Mr. Smith turned on his heel and resumed his restless pacing up and down the room. From time to time he glanced furtively at Miss Maggie. Miss Maggie, her hands idly resting in her lap, palms upward, was gazing fixedly at nothing.

"Of just what—are you thinking?" he demanded at last, coming to a pause at her side.

"I was thinking—of Mr. Stanley G. Fulton," she answered, not looking up.

"Oh, you were!" There was an odd something in Mr. Smith's voice.

"Yes. I was wondering—about those twenty millions."

"Oh, you were!" The odd something had increased, but Miss Maggie's eyes were still dreamily fixed on space.

"Yes. I was wondering what he had done with them."

"Had done with them!"

"Yes, in the letter, I mean." She looked up now in faint surprise. "Don't you remember? There was a letter—a second letter to be opened in two years' time. They said that that was to dispose of the remainder of the property—his last will and testament."

"Oh, yes, I remember," assented Mr. Smith, turning on his heel again. "Then you think—Mr. Fulton is—dead?" Mr. Smith was very carefully not meeting Miss Maggie's eyes.

"Why, yes, I suppose so." Miss Maggie turned back to her meditative gazing at nothing. "The two years are nearly up, you know,—I was talking with Jane the other day—just next November."

"Yes, I know." The words were very near a groan, but at once Mr. Smith hurriedly repeated, "I know—I know!" very lightly, indeed, with an apprehensive glance at Miss Maggie.

"So it seems to me if he were alive that he'd be back by this time. And so I was wondering—about those millions," she went on musingly. "What do YOU suppose he has done with them?" she asked, with sudden animation, turning full upon him.

"Why, I—I—How should I know?" stuttered Mr. Smith, a swift crimson dyeing his face.

Miss Maggie laughed merrily.

"You wouldn't, of course—but that needn't make you look as if I'd intimated that YOU had them! I was only asking for your opinion, Mr. Smith," she twinkled, with mischievous eyes.

"Of course!" Mr. Smith laughed now, a little precipitately. "But, indeed, Miss Maggie, you turned so suddenly and the question was so unexpected that I felt like the small boy who, being always blamed for everything at home that went wrong, answered tremblingly, when the teacher sharply demanded, 'Who made the world?' 'Please, ma'am, I did; but I'll never do it again!'"

"And now," said Mr. Smith, when Miss Maggie had done laughing at his little story, "suppose I turn the tables on you? What do YOU think Mr. Fulton has done—with that money?"

"I don't know what to think." Miss Maggie shifted her position, her face growing intently interested again. "I've been trying to remember what I know of the man."

"What you—KNOW of him!" cried Mr. Smith, with startled eyes.

"Yes, from the newspaper and magazine accounts of him. Of course, there was quite a lot about him at the time the money came; and Flora let me read some things she'd saved, in years gone. Flora was always interested in him, you know."

"Well, what did you find?"

"Why, not much, really, about the man. Besides, very likely what I did find wasn't true. Oh, he was eccentric. Everything mentioned that. But I was trying to find out how he'd spent his money himself. I thought that might give me a clue—about the will, I mean."

"Oh, I see."

"Yes; but I didn't find much. In spite of his reported eccentricities, he seems to me to have done nothing very extraordinary."

"Oh, indeed!" murmured Mr. Smith.

"He doesn't seem to have been very bad."

"No?" Mr. Smith's eyebrows went up.

"Nor very good either, for that matter."

"Sort of a—nonentity, perhaps." Mr. Smith's lips snapped tight shut.

Miss Maggie laughed softly.

"Perhaps—though I suppose he couldn't really be that—not very well— with twenty millions, could he? But I mean, he wasn't very bad, nor very good. He didn't seem to be dissipated, or mixed up in any scandal, or to be recklessly extravagant, like so many rich men. On the other hand, I couldn't find that he'd done any particular good in the world. Some charities were mentioned, but they were perfunctory, apparently, and I don't believe, from the accounts, that he ever really INTERESTED himself in any one—that he ever really cared for— any one."

"Oh, you don't!" If Miss Maggie had looked up, she would have met a most disconcerting expression in the eyes bent upon her. But Miss Maggie did not look up.

"No," she proceeded calmly. "Why, he didn't even have a wife and children to stir him from his selfishness. He had a secretary, of course, and he probably never saw half his begging letters. I can imagine his tossing them aside with a languid 'Fix them up, James,— give the creatures what they want, only don't bother me.'"

"He NEVER did!" stormed Mr. Smith; then, hastily: "I'm sure he never did. You wrong him. I'm sure you wrong him."

"Maybe I do," sighed Miss Maggie. "But when I think of what he might do—Twenty millions! I can't grasp it. Can you? But he didn't do— anything—worth while with them, so far as I can see, when he was living, so that's why I can't imagine what his will may be. Probably the same old perfunctory charities, however, with the Chicago law firm instead of 'James' as disburser—unless, of course, Hattie's expectations are fulfilled, and he divides them among the Blaisdells here."

"You think—there's something worth while he MIGHT have done with those millions, then?" pleaded Mr. Smith, a sudden peculiar wistfulness in his eyes.

"Something he MIGHT have done with them!" exclaimed Miss Maggie. "Why, it seems to me there's no end to what he might have done—with twenty millions."

"What would YOU do?"

"I?—do with twenty millions?" she breathed.

"Yes, you." Mr. Smith came nearer, his face working with emotion. "Miss Maggie, if a man with twenty millions—that is, could you love a man with twenty millions, if—if Mr. Fulton should ask you—if I were Mr. Fulton—if—" His countenance changed suddenly. He drew himself up with a cry of dismay. "Oh, no—no—I've spoiled it all now. That isn't what I meant to say first. I was going to find out—I mean, I was going to tell—Oh, good Heavens, what a—That confounded money— again!"

Miss Maggie sprang to her feet.

"Why, Mr. Smith, w-what—" Only the crisp shutting of the door answered her. With a beseeching look and a despairing gesture Mr. Smith had gone.

Once again Miss Maggie stood looking after Mr. Smith with dismayed eyes. Then, turning to sit down, she came face to face with her own image in the mirror.

"Well, now you've done it, Maggie Duff," she whispered wrathfully to the reflection in the glass. "And you've broken his heart! He was—was going to say something—I know he was. And you? You've talked money, money, MONEY to him for an hour. You said you LOVED money; and you told what you'd do—if you had twenty millions of dollars. And you know—you KNOW he's as poor as Job's turkey, and that just now he's more than ever plagued over—money! And yet you—Twenty millions of dollars! As if that counted against—"

With a little sobbing cry Miss Maggie covered her face with her hands and sat down, helplessly, angrily.



CHAPTER XXIII

REFLECTIONS—MIRRORED AND OTHERWISE

Miss Maggie was still sitting in the big chair with her face in her hands when the door opened and Mr. Smith came in. He was very white.

Miss Maggie, dropping her hands and starting up at his entrance, caught a glimpse of his face in the mirror in front of her. With a furtive, angry dab of her fingers at her wet eyes, she fell to rearranging the vases and photographs on the mantel.

"Oh, back again, Mr. Smith?" she greeted him, with studied unconcern.

Mr. Smith shut the door and advanced determinedly.

"Miss Maggie, I've got to face this thing out, of course. Even if I had—made a botch of things at the very start, it didn't help any to— to run away, as I did. And I was a coward to do it. It was only because I—I—But never mind that. I'm coming now straight to the point. Miss Maggie, will you—marry me?"

The photograph in Miss Maggie's hand fell face down on the shelf. Miss Maggie's fingers caught the edge of the mantel in a convulsive grip. A swift glance in the mirror before her disclosed Mr. Smith's face just over her shoulder, earnest, pleading, and still very white. She dropped her gaze, and turned half away. She did not want to meet Mr. Smith's eyes just then. She tried to speak, but only a half-choking little breath came.

Then Mr. Smith spoke again.

"Miss Maggie, please don't say no—yet. Let me—explain—about how I came here, and all that. But first, before I do that, let me tell you how—how I love you—how I have loved you all these long months. I THINK I loved you from the first time I saw you. Whatever comes, I want you to know that. And if you could care for me a little—just a little, I'm sure I could make it more—in time, so you would marry me. And we would be so happy! Don't you believe I'd try to make you happy- -dear?"

"Yes, oh, yes," murmured Miss Maggie, still with her head turned away.

"Good! Then all you've got to say is that you'll let me try. And we will be happy, dear! Why, until I came here to this little house, I didn't know what living, real living, was. And I HAVE been, just as you. said, a selfish old thing."

Miss Maggie, with a start of surprise, faced the image in the mirror; but Mr. Smith was looking at her, not at her reflection, so she did not meet his ayes.

"Why, I never—" she stammered.

"Yes, you did, a minute ago. Don't you remember? Oh, of course you didn't realize—everything, and perhaps you wouldn't have said it if you'd known. But you said it—and you meant it, and I'm glad you said it. And, dear little woman, don't you see? That's only another reason why you should say yes. You can show me how not to be selfish."

"But, Mr. Smith, I—I-" stammered Miss Maggie, still with puzzled eyes.

"Yes, you can. You can show me how to make life really worth while, for me, and for—for lots of others And NOW I have some one to care for. And, oh, little woman, I—I care so much, it can't be that you—. you don't care—any!"

Miss Maggie caught her breath and turned away again.

"Don't you care—a little?"

The red crept up Miss Maggie's neck to her forehead but still she was silent.

"If I could only see your eyes," pleaded the man. Then, suddenly, he saw Miss Maggie's face in the mirror. The next moment Miss Maggie herself turned a little, and in the mirror their eyes met—and in the mirror Mr. Smith found his answer. "You DO care—a LITTLE!" he breathed, as he took her in his arms.

"But I don't!" Miss Maggie shook her head vigorously against his coat- collar.

"What?" Mr. Smith's clasp loosened a little.

"I care—a GREAT DEAL," whispered Miss Maggie to the coat-collar, with shameless emphasis.

"You—darling!" triumphed the man, bestowing a rapturous kiss on the tip of a small pink ear—the nearest point to Miss Maggie's lips that was available, until, with tender determination, he turned her face to his.

A moment later, blushing rosily, Miss Maggie drew herself away.

"There, we've been quite silly enough—old folks like us."

"We're not silly. Love is never silly-not real love like ours. Besides, we're only as old as we feel. Do you feel old? I don't. I've lost—YEARS since this morning. And you know I'm just beginning to live—really live, anyway! I feel—twenty-one."

"I'm afraid you act it," said Miss Maggie, with mock severity.

"YOU would—if you'd been through what I have," retorted Mr. Smith, drawing a long breath. "And when I think what a botch I made of it, to begin with—You see, I didn't mean to start off with that, first thing; and I was so afraid that—that even if you did care for John Smith, you wouldn't for me—just at first. But you do, dear!" At arms' length he held her off, his hands on her shoulders. His happy eyes searching her face saw the dawn of the dazed, question.

"Wouldn't care for YOU if I did for John Smith! Why, you ARE John Smith. What do you mean?" she demanded, her eyes slowly sweeping him from head to foot and back again. "What DO you mean?"

"MISS MAGGIE!" Instinctively his tongue went back to the old manner of address, but his hands still held her shoulders. "You don't mean—you can't mean that—that you didn't understand—that you DON'T understand that I am—Oh, good Heavens! Well, I have made a mess of it this time," he groaned. Releasing his hold on her shoulders, he turned and began to tramp up and down the room. "Nice little John-Alden-Miles- Standish affair this is now, upon my word! Miss Maggie, have I got to- -to propose to you all over again for—for another man, now?"

"For—ANOTHER MAN! I—I don't think I understand you." Miss Maggie had grown a little white.

"Then you don't know—you didn't understand a few minutes ago, when I- -I spoke first, when I asked you about—about those twenty millions—"

She lifted her hand quickly, pleadingly.

"Mr. Smith, please, don't let's bring money into it at all. I don't care—I don't care a bit if you haven't got any money."

Mr. Smith's jaw dropped.

"If I HAVEN'T got any money!" he ejaculated stupidly.

"No! Oh, yes, I know, I said I loved money." The rich red came back to her face in a flood. "But I didn't mean—And it's just as much of a test and an opportunity when you DON'T have money—more so, if anything. I didn't mean it—that way. I never thought of—of how you might take it—as if I WANTED it. I don't. Indeed, I don't! Oh, can't you-understand?"

"Understand! Good Heavens!" Mr. Smith threw up both his hands. "And I thought I'd given myself away! Miss Maggie." He came to her and stood close, but he did not offer to touch her. "I thought, after I'd said what I did about—about those twenty millions that you understood— that you knew I was—Stanley Fulton himself."

"That you were—who?" Miss Maggie stood motionless, her eyes looking straight into his, amazed incredulous.

"Stanley Fulton. I am Stanley Fulton. My God! Maggie, don't look at me like that. I thought—told you. Indeed, I did!"

She was backing away now, slowly, step by step. Anger, almost loathing, had taken the place of the amazement and incredulity in her eyes.

"And YOU are Mr. Fulton?"

"Yes, yes! But—" "And you've been here all these months—yes, years— under a false name, pretending to be what you weren't—talking to us, eating at our tables, winning our confidence, letting us talk to you about yourself, even pretending that—Oh, how could you?" Her voice broke.

"Maggie, dearest," he begged, springing toward her, "if you'll only let me—"

But she stopped him peremptorily, drawing herself to her full height.

"I am NOT your dearest," she flamed angrily. "I did not give my love— to YOU."

"Maggie!" he implored.

But she drew back still farther.

"No! I gave it to John Smith—gentleman, I supposed. A man—poor, yes, I believed him poor; but a man who at least had a right to his NAME! I didn't give it to Mr. Stanley G. Fulton, spy, trickster, who makes life itself a masquerade for SPORT! I do not know Mr. Stanley G. Fulton, and—I do not wish to." The words ended in a sound very like a sob; but Miss Maggie, with her head still high, turned her back and walked to the window.

The man, apparently stunned for a moment, stood watching her, his eyes grieved, dismayed, hopeless. Then, white-faced, he turned and walked toward the door. With his hand almost on the knob he slowly wheeled about and faced the woman again. He hesitated visibly, then in a dull, lifeless voice he began to speak.

"Miss Maggie, before John Smith steps entirely out of your life, he would like to say just this, please, not on justification, but in explanation of——of Stanley G. Fulton. Fulton did not intend to be a spy, or a trickster, or to make life a masquerade for—sport. He was a lonely old man—he felt old. He had no wife or child. True, he had no one to care for, but—he had no one to care for HIM, either. Remember that, please. He did have a great deal of money—more than he knew what to do with. Oh, he tried—various ways of spending it. Never mind what they were. They are not worth speaking of here. They resulted, chiefly, in showing him that he wasn't—as wise as he might be in that line, perhaps."

The man paused and wet his lips. At the window Miss Maggie still stood, with her back turned as before.

"The time came, finally," resumed the man, "when Fulton began to wonder what would become of his millions when he was done with them. He had a feeling that he would like to will a good share of them to some of his own kin; but he had no nearer relatives than some cousins back East, in—Hillerton."

Miss Maggie at the window drew in her breath, and held it suspended, letting it out slowly.

"He didn't know anything about these cousins," went on the man dully, wearily, "and he got to wondering what they would do with the money. I think he felt, as you said to-day that you feel, that one must know how to spend five dollars if one would get the best out of five thousand. So Fulton felt that, before he gave a man fifteen or twenty millions, he would like to know—what he would probably do with them. He had seen so many cases where sudden great wealth had brought—great sorrow.

"And so then he fixed up a little scheme; he would give each one of these three cousins of his a hundred thousand dollars apiece, and then, unknown to them, he would get acquainted with them, and see which of them would be likely to make the best use of those twenty millions. It was a silly scheme, of course,—a silly, absurd foolishness from beginning to end. It—"

He did not finish his sentence. There was a rush of swift feet, a swish of skirts, then full upon him there fell a whirlwind of sobs, clinging arms, and incoherent ejaculations.

"It wasn't silly—it wasn't silly. It was perfectly splendid! I see it all now. I see it all! I understand. Oh, I think it was—WONDERFUL! And I—I'm so ASHAMED!"

Later—very much later, when something like lucid coherence had become an attribute of their conversation, as they sat together upon the old sofa, the man drew a long breath and said:—

"Then I'm quite forgiven?"

"There is nothing to forgive."

"And you consider yourself engaged to BOTH John Smith and Stanley G. Fulton?"

"It sounds pretty bad, but—yes," blushed Miss Maggie.

"And you must love Stanley G. Fulton just exactly as well—no, a little better, than you did John Smith."

"I'll—try to—if he's as lovable." Miss Maggie's head was at a saucy tilt.

"He'll try to be; but—it won't be all play, you know, for you. You've got to tell him what to do with those twenty millions. By the way, what WILL you do with them?" he demanded interestedly.

Miss Maggie looked up, plainly startled.

"Why, yes, that's so. You—you—if you're Mr. Fulton, you HAVE got— And I forgot all about—those twenty millions. And they're YOURS, Mr. Smith!"

"No, they're not Mr. Smith's," objected the man. "They belong to Fulton, if you please. Furthermore, CAN'T you call me anything but that abominable 'Mr. Smith'? My name is Stanley. You might—er— abbreviate it to—er—' Stan,' now."

"Perhaps so—but I shan't," laughed Miss Maggie,—"not yet. You may be thankful I have wits enough left to call you anything—after becoming engaged to two men all at once."

"And with having the responsibility of spending twenty millions, too."

"Oh, yes, the money!" Her eyes began to shine. She drew another long breath. "Oh, we can do so much with that money! Why, only think what is needed right HERE—better milk for the babies, and a community house, and the streets cleaner, and a new carpet for the church, and a new hospital with—"

"But, see here, aren't you going to spend some of that money on yourself?" he demanded. "Isn't there something YOU want?"

She gave him a merry glance.

"Myself? Dear me, I guess I am! I'm going to Egypt, and China, and Japan—with you, of course; and books—oh, you never saw such a lot of books as I shall buy. And—oh, I'll spend heaps on just my selfish self—you see if I don't! But, first,—oh, there are so many things that I've so wanted to do, and it's just come over me this minute that NOW I can do them! And you KNOW how Hillerton needs a new hospital." Her eyes grew luminous and earnest again. "And I want to build a store and run it so the girls can LIVE, and a factory, too, and decent homes for the workmen, and a big market, where they can get their food at cost; and there's the playground for the children, and—"

But Mr. Smith was laughing, and lifting both hands in mock despair.

"Look here," he challenged, "I THOUGHT you were marrying ME, but—ARE you marrying me or that confounded money?"

Miss Maggie laughed merrily.

"Yes, I know; but you see—" She stopped short. An odd expression came to her eyes.

Suddenly she laughed again, and threw into his eyes a look so merry, so whimsical, so altogether challenging, that he demanded:—

"Well, what is it now?"

'Oh, it's so good, I have—half a mind to tell you."

"Of course you'll tell me. Where are you going?" he asked discontentedly.

Miss Maggie had left the sofa, and was standing, as if half-poised for flight, midway to the door.

"I think—yes, I will tell you," she nodded, her cheeks very pink; "but I wanted to be—over here to tell it."

"'Way over there?"

"Yes, 'way over here. Do you remember those letters I got awhile ago, and the call from the Boston; lawyer, that I—I wouldn't tell you about?"

"I should say I did!"

"Well; you know you—you thought they—they had something to do with— my money; that I—I'd lost some."

"I did, dear."

"Well, they—they did have something to do—with money."

"I knew they did!" triumphed the man. "Oh, why wouldn't you tell me then—and let me help you some way?"

She shook her head nervously and backed nearer the door. He had half started from his seat.

"No, stay there. If you don't—I won't tell you."

He fell back, but with obvious reluctance.

"Well, as I said, it did have something to do—with my money; but just now, when you asked me if I—I was marrying you or your money—"

"But I was in fun—you know I was in fun!" defended the man hotly.

"Oh, yes, I knew that," nodded Miss Maggie. "But it—it made me laugh and remember—the letters. You see, they weren't as you thought. They didn't tell me of—of money lost. They told me of money—gained."

"Gained?"

"Yes. That father's Cousin George in Alaska had died and left me— fifty thousand dollars."

"But, my dear woman, why in Heaven's name wouldn't you tell me that?"

"Because." Miss Maggie took a step nearer the door. "You see, I thought you were poor—very poor, and I—I wouldn't even own up to it myself, but I knew, in my heart, that I was afraid, if you heard I had this money, you wouldn't—you wouldn't—ask me to—to—"

She was blushing so adorably now that the man understood and leaped to his feet.

"Maggie, you—darling!"

But the door had shut—Miss Maggie had fled.



CHAPTER XXIV

THAT MISERABLE MONEY

In the evening, after the Martin girls had gone to their rooms, Miss Maggie and Mr. Smith faced the thing squarely.

"Of course," he began with a sigh, "I'm really not out of the woods at all. Blissfully happy as I am, I'm really deeper in the woods than ever, for now I've got you there with me, to look out for. However successfully John Smith might dematerialize into nothingness—Maggie Duff can't."

"No, I know she can't," admitted Miss Maggie soberly.

"Yet if she marries John Smith she'll have to—and if she doesn't marry him, how's Stanley G. Fulton going to do his courting? He can't come here."

"But he must!" Miss Maggie looked up with startled eyes. "Why, Mr. Smith, you'll HAVE to tell them—who you are. You'll have to tell them right away."

The man made a playfully wry face.

"I shall be glad," he observed, "when I shan't have to be held off at the end of a 'Mr.'! However, we'll let that pass—until we settle the other matter. Have you given any thought as to HOW I'm going to tell Cousin Frank and Cousin James and Cousin Flora that I am Stanley G. Fulton?"

"No—except that you must do it," she answered decidedly. "I don't think you ought to deceive them another minute—not another minute."

"Hm-m." Mr. Smith's eyes grew reflective. "And had you thought-as to what would happen when I did tell them?"

"Why, n-no, not particularly, except that—that they naturally wouldn't like it, at first, and that you'd have to explain—just as you did to me—why you did it."

"And do you think they'll like it any better—when I do explain? Think!"

Miss Maggie meditated; then, a little tremulously she drew in her breath. She lifted startled eyes to his face.

"Why, you'd have to tell them that—that you did it for a test, wouldn't you?"

"If I told the truth—yes."

"And they'd know—they couldn't help knowing—that they had failed to meet it adequately."

"Yes. And would that help matters any—make things any happier, all around?"

"No—oh, no," she frowned despairingly.

"Would it do anybody any REAL good, now? Think of that."

"N-no," she admitted reluctantly, "except that—that you'd be doing right."

"But WOULD I be doing right? And another thing—aside from the mortification, dismay, and anger of my good cousins, have you thought what I'd be bringing on you?"

"ME!"

"Yes. In less than half a dozen hours after the Blaisdells knew that Mr. John Smith was Stanley G. Fulton, Hillerton would know it. And in less than half a dozen more hours, Boston, New York, Chicago,—to say nothing of a dozen lesser cities,—would know it—if there didn't happen to be anything bigger on foot. Headlines an inch high would proclaim the discovery of the missing Stanley G. Fulton, and the fine print below would tell everything that happened, and a great deal that didn't happen, in the carrying-out of the eccentric multi- millionaire's extraordinary scheme of testing his relatives with a hundred thousand dollars apiece to find a suitable heir. Your picture would adorn the front page of the yellowest of yellow journals, and—"

"MY picture! Oh, no, no!" gasped Miss Maggie.

"Oh, yes, yes," smiled the man imperturbably. "You'll be in it, too. Aren't you the affianced bride of Mr. Stanley G. Fulton? I can see them now: 'In Search of an Heir and Finds a Wife.'—'Charming Miss Maggie Duff Falls in Love with Plain John Smith,' and—"

"Oh, no, no," moaned Miss Maggie, shrinking back as if already the lurid headlines were staring her in the face.

Mr. Smith laughed.

"Oh, well, it might not be so bad as that, of course. But you never can tell. Undoubtedly there are elements for a pretty good story in the case, and some man, with nothing more important to write up, is bound to make the most of it somewhere. Then other papers will copy. There's sure to be unpleasant publicity, my dear, if the truth once leaks out."

"But what—what HAD you planned to do?" she faltered, shuddering again.

"Well, I HAD planned something like this: pretty quick, now, Mr. Smith was to announce the completion of his Blaisdell data, and, with properly grateful farewells, take his departure from Hillerton. He would go to South America. There he would go inland on some sort of a simple expedition with a few native guides and carriers, but no other companion. Somewhere in the wilderness he would shed his beard and his name, and would emerge in his proper person of Stanley G. Fulton and promptly take passage for the States. Of course, upon the arrival in Chicago of Mr. Stanley G. Fulton, there would be a slight flurry at his appearance, and a few references to the hundred-thousand-dollar gifts to the Eastern relatives, and sundry speculations as to the why and how of the exploring trip. There would be various rumors and alleged interviews; but Mr. Stanley G. Fulton never was noted for his communicativeness, and, after a very short time, the whole thing would be dismissed as probably another of the gentleman's well-known eccentricities. And there it would end."

"Oh, I see," murmured Miss Maggie, in very evident relief. "That would be better—in some ways; only it does seem terrible not to—to tell them who you are."

"But we have just proved that to do that wouldn't bring happiness anywhere, and would bring misery everywhere, haven't we?"

"Y-yes."

"Then why do it?—particularly as by not doing it I am not defrauding anybody in the least. No; that part isn't worrying me a bit now—but there is one point that does worry me very much."

"What do you mean? What is it?"

"Yourself. My scheme gets Stanley G. Fulton back to life and Chicago very nicely; but it doesn't get Maggie Duff there worth a cent! Maggie Duff can't marry Mr. John Smith in Hillerton and arrive in Chicago as the wife of Stanley G. Fulton, can she?"

"N-no, but he—he can come back and get her—if he wants her." Miss Maggie blushed.

"If he wants her, indeed!" (Miss Maggie blushed all the more at the method and the fervor of Mr. Smith's answer to this.) "Come back as Mr. Stanley G. Fulton, you mean?" went on Mr. Smith, smiling at Miss Maggie's hurried efforts to smooth her ruffled hair. "Too risky, my dear! He'd look altogether too much like—like Mr. John Smith."

"But your beard will be gone—I wonder how I shall like you without a beard." She eyed him critically.

Mr. Smith laughed and threw up his hands with a doleful shrug.

"That's what comes of courting as one man and marrying as another," he groaned. Then, sternly: "I'll warn you right now, Maggie Duff, that Stanley G. Fulton is going to be awfully jealous of John Smith if you don't look out."

"He should have thought of that before," retorted Miss Maggie, her eyes mischievous. "But, tell me, wouldn't you EVER dare to come—in your proper person?"

"Never!—or, at least, not for some time. The beard would be gone, to be sure; but there'd be all the rest to tattle—eyes, voice, size, manner, walk—everything; and smoked glasses couldn't cover all that, you know. Besides, glasses would be taboo, anyway. They'd only result in making me look more like John Smith than ever. John Smith, you remember, wore smoked glasses for some time to hide Mr. Stanley G. Fulton from the ubiquitous reporter. No, Mr. Stanley G. Fulton can't come to Hillerton. So, as Mahomet can't go to the mountain, the mountain must come to Mahomet."

"Meaning—?" Miss Maggie's eyes were growing dangerously mutinous.

"That you will have to come to Chicago—yes."

"And court you? No, sir—thank you!"

Mr. Smith chuckled softly.

"I love you with your head tilted that way." (Miss Maggie promptly tilted it the other.) "Or that, either, for that matter," continued Mr. Smith genially. "However, speaking of courting—Mr. Fulton will do that, all right, and endeavor to leave nothing lacking, either as to quantity or quality. Think, now. Don't you know any one in Chicago? Haven't you got some friend that you can visit?"

"No!" Miss Maggie's answer was prompt and emphatic—too prompt and too emphatic for unquestioning acceptance.

"Oh, yes, you have," asserted the man cheerfully. "I don't know her name—but she's there. She's Waving a red flag from your face this minute! Now, listen. Well, turn your head away, if you like—if you can listen better that way," he went on tranquilly paying no attention to her little gasp. "Well, all you have to do is to write the lady you're coming, and go. Never mind who she is—Mr. Stanley G. Fulton will find a way to meet her. Trust him for that! Then he'll call and meet you—and be so pleased to see you! The rest will be easy. There'll be a regular whirlwind courtship then—calls, dinners, theaters, candy, books, flowers! Then Mr. Stanley G. Fulton will propose marriage. You'll be immensely surprised, of course, but you'll accept. Then we'll get married," he finished with a deep sigh of satisfaction.

"MR. SMITH!" ejaculated Miss Maggie faintly.

"Say, CAN'T you call me anything—" he began wrathfully, but interrupted himself. "However, it's better that you don't, after all. Because I've got to be 'Mr. Smith' as long as I stay here. But you wait till you meet Mr. Stanley G. Fulton in Chicago! Now, what's her name, and where does she live?"

Miss Maggie laughed in spite of herself, as she said severely: "Her name, indeed! I'm afraid Mr. Stanley G. Fulton is so in the habit of having his own way that he forgets he is still Mr. John Smith. However, there IS an old schoolmate," she acknowledged demurely.

"Of course there is! Now, write her at once, and tell her you're coming."

"But she—she may not be there."

"Then get her there. She's GOT to be there. And, listen. I think you'd better plan to go pretty soon after I go to South America. Then you can be there when Mr. Stanley G. Fulton arrives in Chicago and can write the news back here to Hillerton. Oh, they'll get it in the papers, in time, of course; but I think it had better come from you first. You see—the reappearance on this earth of Mr. Stanley G. Fulton is going to be of—of some moment to them, you know. There is Mrs. Hattie, for instance, who is counting on the rest of the money next November."

"Yes, I know, it will mean a good deal to them, of course. Still, I don't believe Hattie is really expecting the money. At any rate, she hasn't said anything about it very lately—perhaps because she's been too busy bemoaning the pass the present money has brought them to."

"Yes, I know," frowned Mr. Smith, with a gloomy sigh. "That miserable money!"

"No, no—I didn't mean to bring that up," apologized Miss Maggie quickly, with an apprehensive glance into his face. "And it wasn't miserable money a bit! Besides, Hattie has—has learned her lesson, I'm sure, and she'll do altogether differently in the new home. But, Mr. Smith, am I never to—to come back here? Can't we come back— ever?"

"Indeed we can—some time, by and by, when all this has blown over, and they've forgotten how Mr. Smith looks. We can come back then. Meanwhile, you can come alone—a VERY little. I shan't let you leave me very much. But I understand; you'll have to come to see your friends. Besides, there are all those playgrounds for the babies and cleaner milk for the streets, and—"

"Cleaner milk for the streets, indeed!"

"Eh? What? Oh, yes, it WAS the milk for the babies, wasn't it?" he teased. "Well, however that may be you'll have to come back to superintend all those things you've been wanting to do so long. But"— his face grew a little wistful—"you don't want to spend too much time here. You know—Chicago has a few babies that need cleaner milk."

"Yes, I know, I know!" Her face grew softly luminous as it had grown earlier in the afternoon.

"So you can bestow some of your charity there; and—"

"It isn't charity," she interrupted with suddenly flashing eyes. "Oh, how I hate that word—the way it's used, I mean. Of course, the real charity means love. Love, indeed! I suppose it was LOVE that made John Daly give one hundred dollars to the Pension Fund Fair—after he'd jewed it out of those poor girls behind his counters! And Mrs. Morse went around everywhere telling how kind dear Mr. Daly was to give so much to charity! CHARITY! Nobody wants charity—except a few lazy rascals like those beggars of Flora's! But we all want our RIGHTS. And if half the world gave the other half its rights there wouldn't BE any charity, I believe."

"Dear, dear! What have we here? A rabid little Socialist?" Mr. Smith held up both hands in mock terror. "I shall be petitioning her for my bread and butter, yet!"

"Nonsense! But, honestly, Mr. Smith, when I think of all that money"— her eyes began to shine again—"and of what we can do with it, I—I just can't believe it's so!"

"But you aren't expecting that twenty millions are going to right all the wrongs in the world, are you?" Mr. Smith's eyes were quizzical.

"No, oh, no; but we can help SOME that we know about. But it isn't that I just want to GIVE, you know. We must get behind things—to the causes. We must—"

"We must make the Mr. Dalys pay more to their girls before they pay anything to pension funds, eh?" laughed Mr. Smith, as Miss Maggie came to a breathless pause.

"Exactly!" nodded Miss Maggie earnestly. "Oh, can't you SEE what we can do—with that twenty million dollars?"

Mr. Smith, his gaze on Miss Maggie's flushed cheeks and shining eyes, smiled tenderly. Then with mock severity he frowned.

"I see—that I'm being married for my money—after all!" he scolded.

"Pooh!" sniffed Miss Maggie, so altogether bewitchingly that Mr. Smith gave her a rapturous kiss.



CHAPTER XXV

EXIT MR. JOHN SMITH

Early in July Mr. Smith took his departure from Hillerton. He made a farewell call upon each of the Blaisdell families, and thanked them heartily for all their kindness in assisting him with his Blaisdell book.

The Blaisdells, one and all, said they were very sorry to have him go. Miss Flora frankly wiped her eyes, and told Mr. Smith she could never, never thank him enough for what he had done for her. Mellicent, too, with shy eyes averted, told him she should never forget what he had done for her—and for Donald.

James and Flora and Frank—and even Jane!—said that they would like to have one of the Blaisdell books, when they were published, to hand down in the family. Flora took out her purse and said that she would pay for hers now; but Mr. Smith hastily, and with some evident embarrassment, refused the money, saying that he could not tell yet what the price of the book would be.

All the Blaisdells, except Frank, Fred, and Bessie, went to the station to see Mr. Smith off. They said they wanted to. They told him he was just like one of the family, anyway, and they declared they hoped he would come back soon. Frank telephoned him that he would have gone, too, if he had not had so much to do at the store.

Mr. Smith seemed pleased at all this attention—he seemed, indeed, quite touched; but he seemed also embarrassed—in fact, he seemed often embarrassed during those last few days at Hillerton.

Miss Maggie Duff did not go to the station to see Mr. Smith off. Miss Flora, on her way home, stopped at the Duff cottage and reproached Miss Maggie for the delinquency.

"Nonsense! Why should I go?" laughed Miss Maggie.

"Why SHOULDN'T you?" retorted Miss Flora. "All the rest of us did, 'most."

"Well, that's all right. You're Blaisdells—but I'm not, you know."

"You're just as good as one, Maggie Duff! Besides, hasn't that man boarded here for over a year, and paid you good money, too?"

"Why, y-yes, of course."

"Well, then, I don't think it would have hurt you any to show him this last little attention. He'll think you don't like him, or—or are mad about something, when all the rest of us went."

"Nonsense, Flora!"

"Well, then, if—Why, Maggie Duff, you're BLUSHING!" she broke off, peering into Miss Maggie's face in a way that did not tend to lessen the unmistakable color that was creeping to her forehead. "You ARE blushing! I declare, if you were twenty years younger, and I didn't know better, I should say that—" She stopped abruptly, then plunged on, her countenance suddenly alight with a new idea. "NOW I know why you didn't go to the station, Maggie Duff! That man proposed to you, and you refused him!" she triumphed.

"Flora!" gasped Miss Maggie, her face scarlet.

"He did, I know he did! Hattie always said it would be a match—from the very first, when he came here to your house."

"FLORA!" gasped Miss Maggie again, looking about her very much as if she were meditating flight.

"Well, she did—but I didn't believe it. Now I know. You refused him— now, didn't you?"

"Certainly not!" Miss Maggie caught her breath a little convulsively.

"Honest?"

"Flora! Stop this silly talk right now. I have answered you once. I shan't again."

"Hm-m." Miss Flora fell back in her chair. "Well, I suppose you didn't, then, if you say so. And I don't need to ask if you accepted him. You didn't, of course, or you'd have been there to see him off. And he wouldn't have gone then, anyway, probably. So he didn't ask you, I suppose. Well, I never did believe, like Hattie did, that—"

"Flora," interrupted Miss Maggie desperately, "WILL you stop talking in that absurd way? Listen, I did not care to go to the station to- day. I am very busy. I am going away next week. I am going—to Chicago."

"To CHICAGO—you!" Miss Flora came erect in her chair.

"Yes, for a visit. I'm going to see my old classmate, Nellie Maynard— Mrs. Tyndall."

"Maggie!"

"What's the matter?"

"Why, n-nothing. It's lovely, of course, only—only I—I'm so surprised! You never go anywhere."

"All the more reason why I should, then. It's time I did," smiled Miss Maggie. Miss Maggie was looking more at ease now.

"When are you going?"

"Next Wednesday. I heard from Nellie last night. She is expecting me then."

"How perfectly splendid! I'm so glad! And I do hope you can DO it, and that it won't peter out at the last minute, same's most of your good times do. Poor Maggie! And you've had such a hard life—and your boarder leaving, too! That'll make a lot of difference in your pocketbook, won't it? But, Maggie, you'll have to have some new clothes."

"Of course. I've been shopping this afternoon. I've got to have—oh, lots of things."

"Of course you have. And, Maggie,"—Miss Flora's face grew eager,— "please, PLEASE, won't you let me help you a little—about those clothes? And get some nice ones—some real nice ones, for once. You KNOW how I'd love to! Please, Maggie, there's a good girl!"

"Thank you, no, dear," refused Miss Maggie, shaking her head with a smile. "But I appreciate your kindness just the same—indeed, I do!"

"If you wouldn't be so horrid proud," pouted Miss Flora.

But Miss Maggie stopped her with a gesture.

"No, no,—listen! I—I have something to tell you. I was going to tell you soon, anyway, and I'll tell it now. I HAVE money, dear,—lots of it now."

"You HAVE money!"

"Yes. Father's Cousin George died two months ago."

"The rich one, in Alaska?"

"Yes; and to father's daughter he left—fifty thousand dollars."

"MAG-gie!"

"And I never even SAW him! But he loved father, you know, years ago, and father loved him."

"But had you ever heard from him—late years?"

"Not much. Father was very angry because he went to Alaska in the first place, you know, and they haven't ever written very often."

"Fifty thousand! And you've got it now?"

"Not yet—all of it. They sent me a thousand—just for pin money, they said. The lawyer's written several times, and he's been here once. I believe it's all to come next month."

"Oh, I'm so glad, Maggie," breathed Flora. "I'm so glad! I don't know of anybody I'd rather see take a little comfort in life than you!"

At the door, fifteen minutes later, Miss Flora said again how glad she was; but she added wistfully:—

"I'm sure I don't know, though, what I'm going to do all summer without you. Just think how lonesome we'll be—you gone to Chicago, Hattie and Jim and all their family moved to Plainville, and even Mr. Smith gone, too! And I think we're going to miss Mr. Smith a whole lot, too. He was a real nice man. Don't you think so, Maggie?"

"Indeed, I do think he was a very nice man!" declared Miss Maggie. "Now, Flora, I shall want you to go shopping with me lots. Can you?"

And Miss Flora, eagerly entering into Miss Maggie's discussion of frills and flounces, failed to notice that Miss Maggie had dropped the subject of Mr. Smith somewhat hastily.

Hillerton had much to talk about during those summer days. Mr. Smith's going had created a mild discussion—the "ancestor feller" was well known and well liked in the town. But even his departure did not arouse the interest that was bestowed upon the removal of the James Blaisdells to Plainville; and this, in turn, did not cause so great an excitement as did the news that Miss Maggie Duff had inherited fifty thousand dollars and had gone to Chicago to spend it. And the fact that nearly all who heard this promptly declared that they hoped she WOULD spend a good share of it—in Chicago, or elsewhere—on herself, showed pretty well just where Miss Maggie Duff stood in the hearts of Hillerton.

. . . . . . It was early in September that Miss Flora had the letter from Miss Maggie. Not but that she had received letters from Miss Maggie before, but that the contents of this one made it at once, to all the Blaisdells, "the letter."

Miss Flora began to read it, gave a little cry, and sprang to her feet. Standing, her breath suspended, she finished it. Five minutes later, gloves half on and hat askew, she was hurrying across the common to her brother Frank's home.

"Jane, Jane," she panted, as soon as she found her sister-in-law. "I've had a letter from Maggie. Mr. Stanley G. Fulton has come back. HE'S COME BACK!"

"Come back! Alive, you mean? Oh, my goodness gracious! What'll Hattie do? She's just been living on having that money. And us, with all we've lost, too! But, then, maybe we wouldn't have got it, anyway. My stars! And Maggie wrote you? Where's the letter?"

"There! And I never thought to bring it," ejaculated Miss Flora vexedly. "But, never mind! I can tell you all she said. She didn't write much. She said it would be in all the Eastern papers right away, of course, but she wanted to tell us first, so we wouldn't be so surprised. He's just come. Walked into his lawyer's office without a telegram, or anything. Said he didn't want any fuss made. Mr. Tyndall brought home the news that night in an 'Extra'; but that's all it told—just that Mr. Stanley G. Fulton, the multi-millionaire who disappeared nearly two years ago on an exploring trip to South America, had come back alive and well. Then it told all about the two letters he left, and the money he left to us, and all that, Maggie said; and it talked a lot about how lucky it was that he got back just in time before the other letter had to be opened next November. But it didn't say any more about his trip, or anything. The morning papers will have more, Maggie said, probably."

"Yes, of course, of course," nodded Jane, rolling the corner of her upper apron nervously. (Since the forty-thousand-dollar loss Jane had gone back to her old habit of wearing two aprons.) "Where DO you suppose he's been all this time? Was he lost or just exploring?"

"Maggie said it wasn't known—that the paper didn't say. It was an 'Extra' anyway, and it just got in the bare news of his return. But we'll know, of course. The papers here will tell us. Besides, Maggie'll write again about it, I'm sure. Poor Maggie! I'm so glad she's having such a good time!"

"Yes, of course, of course," nodded Jane again nervously. "Say, Flora, I wonder—do you suppose WE'LL ever hear from him? He left us all that money—he knows that, of course. He can't ask for it back—the lawyer said he couldn't do that! Don't you remember? But, I wonder—do you suppose we ought to write him and—and thank him?"

"Oh, mercy!" exclaimed Miss Flora, aghast. "Mercy me, Jane! I'd be scared to death to do such a thing as that. Oh, you don't think we've got to do THAT?" Miss Flora had grown actually pale.

Jane frowned.

"I don't know. We'd want to do what was right and proper, of course. But I don't see—" She paused helplessly.

Miss Flora gave a sudden hysterical little laugh.

"Well, I don't see how we're going to find out what's proper, in this case," she giggled. "We can't write to a magazine, same as I did when I wanted to know how to answer invitations and fix my knives and forks on the table. We CAN'T write to them, 'cause nothing like this ever happened before, and they Wouldn't know what to say. How'd we look writing, 'Please, dear Editor, when a man wills you a hundred thousand dollars and then comes to life again, is it proper or not proper to write and thank him?' They'd think we was crazy, and they'd have reason to! For my part, I—"

The telephone bell rang sharply, and Jane rose to answer it. She was gone some time. When she came back she was even more excited.

"It was Frank. He's heard it. It was in the papers to-night."

"Did it tell anything more?"

"Not much, I guess. Still, there was some. He's going to bring it home. It's 'most supper-time. Why don't you wait?" she questioned, as Miss Flora got hastily to her feet.

Miss Flora shook her head.

"I can't. I left everything just as it was and ran, when I got the letter. I'll get a paper myself on the way home. I'm going to call up Hattie, too, on the long distance. My, it's 'most as exciting as it was when it first came,—the money, I mean,—isn't it?" panted Miss Flora as she hurried away.

The Blaisdells bought many papers during the next few days. But even by the time that the Stanley G. Fulton sensation had dwindled to a short paragraph in an obscure corner of a middle page, they (and the public in general) were really little the wiser, except for these bare facts:—

Stanley G. Fulton had arrived at a South American hotel, from the interior, had registered as S. Fulton, frankly to avoid publicity, and had taken immediate passage to New York. Arriving at New York, still to avoid publicity, he had not telegraphed his attorneys, but had taken the sleeper for Chicago, and had fortunately not met any one who recognized him until his arrival in that city. He had brought home several fine specimens of Incan textiles and potteries: and he declared that he had had a very enjoyable and profitable trip. Beyond that he would say nothing, He did not care to talk of his experiences, he said.

For a time, of course, his return was made much of. Fake interviews and rumors of threatened death and disaster in impenetrable jungles made frequent appearance; but in an incredibly short time the flame of interest died from want of fuel to feed upon; and, as Mr. Stanley G. Fulton himself had once predicted, the matter was soon dismissed as merely another of the multi-millionaire's well-known eccentricities.

All of this the Blaisdells heard from Miss Maggie in addition to seeing it in the newspapers. But very soon, from Miss Maggie, they began to learn more. Before a fortnight had passed, Miss Flora received another letter from Chicago that sent her flying as before to her sister-in-law.

"Jane, Jane, Maggie's MET HIM!" she cried, breathlessly bursting into the kitchen where Jane was paring the apples that she would not trust to the maid's more wasteful knife.

"Met him! Met who?"

"Mr. Fulton. She's TALKED with him! She wrote me all about it."

"OUR Mr. Fulton?"

"Yes."

"FLORA!" With a hasty twirl of a now reckless knife, Jane finished the last apple, set the pan on the before the maid, and hurried her visitor into the living-room. "Now, tell me quick—what did she say? Is he nice? Did she like him? Did he know she belonged to us?"

"Yes—yes—everything," nodded Miss Flora, sinking into a chair. "She liked him real well, she said and he knows all about that she belongs to us. She said he was real interested in us. Oh, I hope she didn't tell him about—Fred!"

"And that awful gold-mine stock," moaned Jane. "But she wouldn't—I know she wouldn't!"

"Of course she wouldn't," cried Miss Flora. "'Tisn't like Maggie one bit! She'd only tell the nice things, I'm sure. And, of course, she'd tell him how pleased we were with the money!"

"Yes, of course, of course. And to think she's met him—really met him!" breathed Jane. "Mellicent!" She turned an excited face to her daughter, who had just entered the room. "What do you think? Aunt Flora's just had a letter from Aunt Maggie, and she's met Mr. Fulton— actually TALKED with him!"

"Really? Oh, how perfectly splendid! Is he nice? Did she like him?"

Miss Flora laughed.

"That's just what your mother asked. Yes, he's real nice, your Aunt Maggie says, and she likes him very much."

"But how'd she do it? How'd she happen to meet him?" demanded Jane.

"Well, it seems he knew Mr. Tyndall, and Mr. Tyndall brought him home one night and introduced him to his wife and Maggie; and since then he's been very nice to them. He's taken them out in his automobile, and taken them to the theater twice."

"That's because she belongs to us, of course," nodded Jane wisely.

"Yes, I suppose so," agreed Flora. "And I think it's very kind of him."

"Pooh!" sniffed Mellicent airily. "I think he does it because he WANTS to. You never did appreciate Aunt Maggie. I'll warrant she's nicer and sweeter and—and, yes, PRETTIER than lots of those old Chicago women. Aunt Maggie looked positively HANDSOME that day she left here last July. She looked so—so absolutely happy! Probably he LIKES to take her to places. Anyhow, I'm glad she's having one good time before she dies."

"Yes, so am I, my dear. "We all are," sighed Miss Flora." Poor Maggie!"

"I only wish he'd marry her and—and give her a good time all her life," avowed Mellicent, lifting her chin.

"Marry her!" exclaimed two scornful voices.

"Well, why not? She's good enough for him," bridled Mellicent. "Aunt Maggie's good enough for anybody!"

"Of course she is, child!" laughed Miss Flora. "Maggie's a saint—if ever there was one."

"Yes, but I shouldn't call her a MARRYING saint," smiled Jane.

"Well, I don't know about that," frowned Miss Flora thoughtfully. "Hattie always declared there'd be a match between her and Mr. Smith, you know."

"Yes. But there wasn't one, was there?" twitted Jane. "Well, then, I shall stick to my original statement that Maggie Duff is a saint, all right, but not a marrying one—unless some one marries her now for her money, of course."

"As if Aunt Maggie'd stand for that!" scoffed Mellicent. "Besides, she wouldn't have to! Aunt Maggie's good enough to be married for herself."

"There, there, child, just because you are a love-sick little piece of romance just now, you needn't think everybody else is," her mother reproved her a little sharply.

But Mellicent only laughed merrily as she disappeared into her own room.

"Speaking of Mr. Smith, I wonder where he is, and if he'll ever come back here," mused Miss Flora, aloud. "I wish he would. He was a very nice man, and I liked him."

"Goodness, Flora, YOU aren't, getting romantic, too, are you?" teased her sister-in-law.

"Nonsense, Jane!" ejaculated Miss Flora sharply, buttoning up her coat. "I'm no more romantic than—than poor Maggie herself is!"

Two weeks later, to a day, came Miss Maggie's letter announcing her engagement to Mr. Stanley G. Fulton, and saying that she was to be married in Chicago before Christmas.



CHAPTER XXVI

REENTER MR. STANLEY G. FULTON

In the library of Mrs. Thomas Tyndall's Chicago home Mr. Stanley G. Fulton was impatiently awaiting the appearance of Miss Maggie Duff. In a minute she came in, looking charmingly youthful in her new, well- fitting frock.

The man, quickly on his feet at her entrance, gave her a lover's ardent kiss; but almost instantly he held her off at arms' length.

"Why, dearest, what's the matter?" he demanded.

"W-what do you mean?"

"You look as if—if something had happened—not exactly a bad something, but—What is it?"

Miss Maggie laughed softly.

"That's one of the very nicest things about you, Mr. Stanley-G.- Fulton-John-Smith," she sighed, nestling comfortably into the curve of his arm, as they sat down on the divan;—"that you NOTICE things so.. And it seems so good to me to have somebody—NOTICE."

"Poor lonely little woman! And to think of all these years I've wasted!"

"Oh, but I shan't be lonely any more now. And, listen—I'll tell you what made me look so funny. I've had a letter from Flora. You know I wrote them—about my coming marriage."

"Yes, yes," eagerly. "Well, what did they say?"

Miss Maggie laughed again.

"I believe—I'll let you read the letter for yourself, Stanley. It tells some things, toward the end that I think you'll like to know," she said, a little hesitatingly, as she held out the letter she had brought into the room with her.

"Good! I'd like to read it," cried Fulton, whisking the closely written sheets from the envelope.

MY DEAR MAGGIE (Flora had written): Well, mercy me, you have given us a surprise this time, and no mistake! Yet we're all real glad, Maggie, and we hope you'll be awfully happy. You deserve it, all right. Poor Maggie! You've had such an awfully hard time all your life!

Well, when your letter came, we were just going out to Jim's for an old-fashioned Thanksgiving dinner, so I took it along with me and read it to them all. I kept it till we were all together, too, though I most bursted with the news all the way out.

Well, you ought to have heard their tongues wag! They were all struck dumb first, for a minute, all except Mellicent. She spoke up the very first thing, and clapped her hands.

"There." she cried. "What did I tell you? I knew Aunt Maggie was good enough for anybody!"

To explain that I'll have to go back a little. We were talking one day about you—Jane and Mellicent and me—and we said you were a saint, only not a marrying saint. But Mellicent thought you were, and it seems she was right. Oh, of course, we'd all thought once Mr. Smith might take a fancy to you, but we never dreamed of such a thing as this—Mr. Stanley G. Fulton! Sakes alive—I can hardly sense it yet!

Jane, for a minute, forgot how rich he was, and spoke right up real quick—"It's for her money, of course. I KNEW some one would marry her for that fifty thousand dollars!" But she laughed then, right off, with the rest of us, at the idea of a man worth twenty millions marrying ANYBODY for fifty thousand dollars.

Benny says there ain't any man alive good enough for his Aunt Maggie, so if Mr. Fulton gets to being too highheaded sometimes, you can tell him what Benny says.

But we're all real pleased, honestly, Maggie, and of course we're terribly excited. We're so sorry you're going to be married out there in Chicago. Why can't you make him come to Hillerton? Jane says she'd be glad to make a real nice wedding for you—and when Jane says a thing like that, you can know how much she's really saying, for Jane's feeling awfully poor these days, since they lost all that money, you know.

And we'd all like to see Mr. Fulton, too—"Cousin Stanley," as Hattie always calls him. Please give him our congratulations—but there, that sounds funny, doesn't it? (But the etiquette editors in the magazines say we must always give best wishes to the bride and congratulations to the groom.) Only it seems funny here, to congratulate that rich Mr. Fulton on marrying you. Oh, dear! I didn't mean it that way, Maggie. I declare, if that sentence wasn't 'way in the middle of this third page, and so awfully hard for me to write, anyway, I'd tear up this sheet and begin another. But, after all, you'll understand, I'm sure. You KNOW we all think the world of you, Maggie, and that I didn't mean anything against YOU. It's just that—that Mr. Fulton is—is such a big man, and all—But you know what I meant.

Well, anyway, if you can't come here to be married, we hope you'll bring him here soon so we can see him, and see you, too. We miss you awfully, Maggie,—truly we do, especially since Jim's folks went, and with Mr. Smith gone, too, Jane and I are real lonesome.

Jim and Hattie like real well where they are. They've got a real pretty home, and they're the biggest folks in town, so Hattie doesn't have to worry for fear she won't live quite so fine as her neighbors— though really I think Hattie's got over that now a good deal. That awful thing of Fred's sobered her a lot, and taught her who her real friends were, and that money ain't everything.

Fred is doing splendidly now, just as steady as a clock. It does my soul good to see him and his father together. They are just like chums. And Bessie—she isn't near so disagreeable and airy as she was. Hattie took her out of that school and put her into another where she's getting some real learning and less society and frills and dancing. Jim is doing well, and I think Hattie's real happy. Oh, of course, when we first heard that Mr. Fulton had got back, I think she was kind of disappointed. You know she always did insist we were going to have the rest of that money if he didn't show up. But she told me just Thanksgiving Day that she didn't know but 't was just as well, after all, that they didn't have the money, for maybe Fred'd go wrong again, or it would strike Benny this time. Anyhow, however much money she had, she said, she'd never let her children spend so much again, and she'd found out money didn't bring happiness, always, anyway,

Mellicent and Donald are going to be married next summer. Donald don't get a very big salary yet, but Mellicent says she won't mind a bit going back to economizing again, now that for once she's had all the chocolates and pink dresses she wanted. What a funny girl she is—but she's a dear girl, just the same, and she's settled down real sensible now. She and Donald are as happy as can be, and even Jane likes Donald real well now.

Jane's gone back to her tidies and aprons and skimping on everything. She says she's got to, to make up that forty thousand dollars. But she enjoys it, I believe. Honestly, she acts 'most as happy trying to save five cents as Frank does earning it in his old place behind the counter. And that's saying a whole lot, as you know. Jane knows very well she doesn't have to pinch that way. They've got lots of the money left, and Frank's business is better than ever. But she just likes to.

You complain because I don't tell you anything about myself in my letters, but there isn't anything to tell. I am well and happy, and I've just thought up the nicest thing to do. Mary Hicks came home from Boston sick last September, and she's been here at my house ever since. Her own home ain't no place for a sick person, you know, with all those children, and they're awfully poor, too. So I took her here with me. She's a real nice girl. She works in a department store and was all played out, but she's picked up wonderfully here and is going back next week.

Well, she was telling me about a girl that works with her at the same counter, and saying how she wished she had a place like this to go to for a rest and change, so I'm going to do it—give them one, I mean, she and the other girls. Mary says there are a dozen girls that she knows right there that are half-sick, but would get well in a minute if they only had a few weeks of rest and quiet and good food. So I'm going to take them, two at a time, so they'll be company for each other. Mary is going to fix it up for me down there, and pick out the girls, and she says she knows the man who owns the store will be glad to let them off, for they are all good help, and he's been afraid he'd lose them. He'd offered them a month off, besides their vacation, but they couldn't take it, because they didn't have any place to go or money to pay. Of course, that part will be all right now. And I'm so glad and excited I don't know what to do. Oh, I do hope you'll tell Mr. Fulton some time how happy he's made me, and how perfectly splendid that money's been for me.

Well, Maggie, this is a long letter, and I must close. Tell me all about the new clothes you are getting, and I hope you will get a lot. Lovingly yours,

FLORA.

P.S. Does Mr. Fulton look like his pictures? You know I've got one. F.

P.S. again. Maggie Duff, for pity's sake, never, never tell that man that I ever went into mourning for him and put flowers before his picture. I'd be mortified to death!

"Bless her heart!" With a smile Mr. Fulton folded the letter and handed it back to Miss Maggie.

"I didn't feel that I was betraying confidences—under the circumstances," murmured Miss Maggie.

"Hardly!"

"And there was a good deal in the letter that I DID want you to see," added Miss Maggie.

"Hm-m; the congratulations, for one thing, of course," twinkled the man. "Poor Maggie!"

"I wanted you to see how really, in the end, that money was not doing so much harm, after all," asserted Miss Maggie, with some dignity, shaking her head at him reprovingly. "I thought you'd be GLAD, sir!"

"I am glad. I'm so glad that, when I come to make my will now, I shouldn't wonder if I remembered them all again—a little—that is, if I have anything left to will," he teased shamelessly. "Oh, by the way, that makes me think. I've just been putting up a monument to John Smith."

"Stanley!" Miss Maggie's voice carried genuine shocked distress.

"But, my dear Maggie, something was due the man," maintained Fulton, reaching for a small flat parcel near him and placing it in Miss Maggie's hands.

"But—oh, Stanley, how could you?" she shivered, her eyes on the words the millionaire had penciled on the brown paper covering of the parcel.

Sacred to the memory of John Smith.

"Open it," directed the man.

With obvious reluctance Miss Maggie loosened the paper covers and peered within. The next moment she gave a glad cry.

In her hands lay a handsome brown leather volume with gold letters, reading:—

The Blaisdell Family By John Smith

"And you—did that?" she asked, her eyes luminous.

"Yes. I shall send a copy each to Frank and Jim and Miss Flora, of course. That's the monument. I thought it due—Mr. John Smith. Poor man, it's the least I can do for him—and the most—unless—" He hesitated with an unmistakable look of embarrassment.

"Yes," prompted Miss Maggie eagerly. "Yes!"

"Well, unless—I let you take me to Hillerton one of these days and see if—if Stanley G. Fulton, with your gracious help, can make peace for John Smith with those—er—cousins of mine. You see, I still feel confoundedly like that small boy at the keyhole, and I'd like—to open that door! Could we do it, do you think?"

"Do it? Of course we could! And, oh, Stanley, it's the one thing needed to make me perfectly happy," she sighed blissfully.

THE END