Kingsley smiled: “If you must know—though we promised her we would not tell you,” he said—“no, Miss Conway, you did not earn but five dollars this week. The other five is Maggie's gift to you—she left it here for you.”
She looked at him stupidly—in dazed gratitude. Travis came forward:
“I've ordered Jim to take you home to-night. I cannot leave now.”
And he led her out to where the trotters stood. He lifted her in, pressing her hand as he did so—but she did not know it—she burned with a strange fullness in her throat as she clutched her money, the first she had ever earned, and thought of Maggie—Maggie, dying and unselfish.
Work—it had opened a new life to her. Work—and never before had she known the sweetness of it.
“Oh, father,” she said when she reached home, “I have made some money—I can support you and Lily now.”
When Travis returned Jud Carpenter met him at the door.
“I had a mess o' trouble gittin' that gal into the mill. Huh! but ain't she a beaut! I guess you 'orter tip me for throwin' sech a peach as that into yo' arms. Oh, you're a sly one—” he went on whisperingly—“the smoothest one with women I ever seed. But you'll have to thank me for that queen. Guess I'll go down an' take a dram. I want to git the lint out of my throat.”
“I'll be down later,” said Travis as he looked at his watch. “Charley Biggers and I. It's our night to have a little fun with the boys.”
“I'll see you there,” said Jud.