"Please let me clean this place up for you?" she pleaded.
"Not to-night."
"To-morrow morning, then? I'll come early and every morning—please—let me—it's all I can do to thank you. I'll do it a month just to show you how pretty I can keep it and then you can pay me if you want me. It's a bargain, isn't it?"
The editor smiled, hesitated, and said:
"All right—every morning at seven."
"Thank you, major—good night!"
She paused at the door and her white teeth gleamed in the shadows. She turned and tripped down the stairs, humming again the strangely appealing song she had sung at the well.