“What is it, Pat?” inquired her mother, glancing up from the hearth rug where she knelt trying to coax a blaze from a bed of charcoal and paper.
“A special delivery letter—for me.”
“For you?” repeated Mrs. Randall in surprise. “From whom?”
“I don’t know,” replied her daughter, frowning in a puzzled fashion.
“Well, open it and find out. Don’t stand staring at it like that,” urged her mother briskly.
Patricia sank into a low tapestry chair beside the fireplace and tore open the envelope. As she drew out the single sheet it contained, a slip dropped from it onto her lap. Still holding the folded letter she picked up the slip and exclaimed:
“A cashier’s check for a thousand dollars!”
“Pat!” cried Mrs. Randall, reaching for the yellow paper to read it for herself. “Look at the letter, quick, and see who sent it!”
“It’s only a line. ‘For Patricia Randall to spend on a year at Granard College.’ Oh—why—Mums!”
Patricia flung herself on her mother so suddenly that Mrs. Randall lost her balance, and the two fell in a heap on the rug.