A Daily Rate. Grace Livingston Hill

the slightest idea what all this is about. I expect nothing. I came here to be informed.”

      The old lawyer gave her another searching look and then seemed to conclude that she was honest.

      “Well, young lady, I think I may safely tell you this much. There was property of Mr. Abner Murray’s, which naturally descended to his only son. This son had been in India for years. He did not return at his father’s death, and in fact his whereabouts was not definitely known, until a very short time ago, when positive information of his death without heirs was received. The property would then revert to Mr. Abner Murray’s next of kin, and his heirs. Mr. Abner Murray had a brother, who is supposedly your father’s father. If this should prove to be the case, through his death and your father’s, his only heir, you being the only living child of your father, the property would naturally fall to you. Do you follow me closely?”

      Celia looked at Mr. Rawley respectfully now and very gravely. The matter had taken on a different aspect. It was a complete surprise. She had not even in her wildest dreams allowed herself to hope for any such thing. Fortunes only fell to girls in books, not to flesh-and-¬blood, hardworking, everyday girls.

      She looked at the lawyer in silence a minute and then she smiled gravely and said:

      “That would be very nice Wit’s true. I wish it might be. And now I suppose you are done with me for the present, until you have investigated the truth of my statements.”

      Mr. Rawley seemed surprised that she took it so coolly and asked no more questions. She rose as if to go. The truth was she had caught a glimpse of the clock and she saw that she had barely time to reach her counter before the limit of her nooning would be over, and she had had no lunch. Her position might be forfeited if she exceeded her time. That was worth to her at present all the mythical fortunes that the future might hold for her. So, without more ado, she hurried away, and not even stopping for a single bite to eat, laid aside her wraps and was in her place behind the counter when the minute hand pointed just one minute after the time allotted her.

      It was a very busy afternoon. She had not much time to think. Everybody seemed to want ribbons. “Perhaps I shall be in a position to buy some of these yards myself, instead of measuring them off for other people, some time, if that old Mr. Rawley ever finds out whether I am I, “she thought to herself as she skillfully clipped off two yards of blue satin and three yards of pink taffeta.

      “Property!” he had said. What did property mean? Had great uncle Abner left an old house standing some- where, which would be of no earthly use to anybody unless sold, and bring nothing then? Or perhaps it was some musty old library. She had no faith that there was much money. Such things did not run in their family. It would turn out to be very little. But oh, what if it should be something worthwhile? What, for instance, if it should be a thousand dollars! What might she not do? Why, a thousand dollars would enable her to do some of the nice things she longed so to do. She could bring aunt Hannah here to the city, and set up a tiny home with her m it somewhere. With that much money to start on, they could surely make their living, she in the store and aunt Hannah at home sewing. It flashed across her mind that that was just the sum Mrs. Morris had wished for. She had said if she only had a thousand dollars she could pay her debts and have enough left to start on and get out of her uncomfortable life.

      How nice it would be if she, Celia, could have money enough to say, “I have the thousand dollars, Mrs. Morris, and I will give it to you. You may pay those people and go away to some more quiet, restful life.” Then how delightful it would be to take that poor miserable boarding-house and make it over. Make the boarders’ lives cheerful and pleasant, give them healthful food and clean, inviting rooms to live in! What a work that would be for a lifetime! If she ever did get rich, she believed she would do just that thing. Hunt up the most wretched boarding-house she could find and take it, boarders and all, and make it over. She believed she could do it with aunt Hannah’s help. Aunt Hannah could cook and plan, and she could execute and beautify. The thought pleased her so well that she carried it out into details, during the long walk back to her boarding-house that night. She even went so far as to think out what she would give them for dinner the first night, and how the dining- room should appear—and how their faces would look when they saw it all. What fun it would be! Miss Burns should have something every night that would tempt her appetite, and the poor old lady in the third story should be given the very tenderest cut in the whole steak, so she need not tremble so when she cut it. And there was that poor young school-teacher, he needed rich creamy milk. She had heard him decline the muddy coffee several times and once he asked if he might have a glass of milk, and Maggie had told him they were all out of milk.

      She debated whether she would retain her position in the store and decided that she would for a time, because that would give her a chance to carry out some plans without letting the boarders know who was at the bottom of it all. Things should not be changed much at first, except that everything should be made entirely clean and wholesome. Then gradually they would begin to beautify. Perhaps the others would help in it. Perhaps she could lure the young man from the dry goods store into spending an evening at home and helping her. She had a suspicion that he spent his evenings out, and remained late in places which did him no good, to say the least. It would do no harm for her to try to get acquainted with him and help him, even if she never got a fortune to enable her to raise her neighbors into better things. She ‘would begin the reformation of young Mr. Knowles that very evening, if there came an opportunity. With these thoughts and plans in mind she completed her long walk in much shorter time than usual and with a lighter heart. It did her good to have an interest in life beyond the mere duties of the hour.

      She found Mrs. Morris in much the same state of depression as on the day before. The doctor had urged again that she go to the hospital for regular course of treatment. She was as determined as ever that she would not, or rather could not do it. She wanted Celia to come and sit with her. She had taken a liking to her new boarder, and she did not hesitate to say so, and to declare that the others were an unfeeling set who bothered her and didn’t care if she was sick. Celia tried to cheer her up. She gave her a flower which one of the other workers in the store had given her, and told her she would come up after dinner was over. Then she went down to the table, and found Mr. Knowles seated before his plate looking cold and coughing. She wondered if her opportunity would come. His seat was at her left hand. They exchanged some remarks about the weather, and Celia told him he seemed to have a bad cold. He told her that was a chronic state with him, and then coughed again as he tried to laugh. She entered into his mock gaiety, and told him that if his mother were there she would tell him not to go out that evening, in such damp weather and with that cough.

      His face grew sober instantly, and he said very earnestly: “I suppose she would.”

      “Well, then, I suppose you’ll stay in, won’t you?” said the girl. “It isn’t right not to take care of yourself. The wind is very raw to-night. Your cough will be much worse to-morrow if you go out in it. You ought to stay in for your mother’s sake, you know.”

      It was a bow drawn at a venture. Celia stole a glance at him. He looked up at her quickly, his handsome, gay face sober and almost startled.

      “But mother isn’t here,” he said, his voice husky. “She died a year ago.”

      “But don’t you think mothers care for their sons even after they have gone to heaven? I believe they do. I believe in some way God lets them know when they are doing right. You ought to take care of yourself just the same, even if she is not here, for, you know she would tell you to do it, now wouldn’t she?”

      “Yes, I know she would,” he answered, and then, after a minute’s pause, he added, “but it is so hard to stay in here. There is no place to sit and nothing to do all the evening. Mother used to have things different.”

      “It is hard,” said Celia, sympathizingly, “and this is a dreary place. I’ve thought so myself ever since I came. I wonder if you and I couldn’t make things a little pleasanter for us all, if we tried.”

      “How? I’m sure I never thought I could do anything in that line. How would you go about it?”

      “Well, I’m not just sure,” said Celia, thinking