| CHAPTER | PAGE | |
| I | A Good Little Dream | [1] |
| II | Applicants for Blue Chambray | [19] |
| III | Inauguration | [33] |
| IV | Cinderella | [49] |
| V | Science | [69] |
| VI | An Eleemosynary Institution | [84] |
| VII | Cave-man Stuff | [93] |
| VIII | Science Applied | [113] |
| IX | Sheila | [134] |
| X | The Portrait | [151] |
| XI | Billy and Caroline | [166] |
| XII | More Cave-Man Stuff | [180] |
| XIII | The Happiest Day | [198] |
| XIV | Betty | [209] |
| XV | Clouds of Glory | [220] |
| XVI | Christmas Shopping | [236] |
| XVII | Good-By | [248] |
| XVIII | Tame Skeletons | [259] |
| XIX | Other People’s Troubles | [271] |
| XX | Hitty | [288] |
| XXI | Lohengrin and White Satin | [299] |
OUTSIDE INN
CHAPTER I
A Good Little Dream
“I Elijah Peebles Martin, of the city and county of Harrison, in the state of Rhode Island, being of sound and disposing mind and memory, do make and declare the following, as and for, my last will and testament.’ ... I wish you’d take your head out of that barrel, Nancy, and listen to the document that is going to make you rich beyond the dreams of avarice.”
“I was beyond them anyway.” The young woman in blue serge made one last effectual dive into the depths of excelsior, the topmost billows of which were surging untidily over the edge of a big crate in the middle of the basement floor, and secured a nest of blue and rose colored teacups, which she proceeded to unwrap lovingly and display on a convenient packing box. “Not one single thing broken in this 2 whole lot, Billy.... What is a disposing mind and memory, anyhow?”
“You don’t deserve to know,” the blond young man in the Norfolk jacket assured her, adjusting himself more firmly to the idiosyncrasies of the rackety step-ladder he was striding. “You’re not human about this. Here you are suddenly in possession of a fortune. Money enough to make you independently wealthy for the rest of your life—money you didn’t know the existence of, two weeks ago—fed to you by a gratuitous providence. A legacy is a legacy, and deserves to be treated as such, and I propose to see that it gets what it deserves, without any more shilly-shallying.”
“I’m a busy woman,” Nancy groaned, “and I’ve hammered my finger to a pulp, trying to open this crate, while you perch on a broken step-ladder and prate to me of legacies. The saucers to these cups may be in here, and I can’t wait to find out. I’m perfectly crazy about this ware. It’s English—Wedgewood, you know.”