Edina approached uncertainly and stood before the gracious, white-haired lady who held her own fate and the fate of all the students of Three Towers Hall in the hollow of her hand.
Miss Walters searched among the papers on her desk and drew forth a letter.
“This communication came to me to-day, Edina. It is from your father and it contains news that I am sure you will be glad to hear.”
Edina looked big and awkward and pitiful as she stood there, nervously twisting her fingers together.
“Your father has struck oil again on his property—a genuine gusher this time. I imagine you will be very, very rich, Edina.”
Miss Walters smiled, as though at some secret thought of her own. Reaching into the letter she drew forth a long yellow slip.
“Your father asked me to give you this check—to help him celebrate, he said.”
Edina took the slip of paper without pausing to read the illiterate scrawl across its face. Her eyes were on Miss Walters’ face.
“You been so awful good to me,” she muttered.
“You are worth being good to, Edina,” said Miss Walters, smiling. “Billie and I have always believed that—haven’t we, Billie?”