"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.