It was well for her chance of quiet that Hattie Butler took her place in the office, where none could invade without permission, when she returned to the bindery, for every one wanted to see and, if but for a moment, to speak to the heroine whom the papers had made famous.
Even a reporter, and they are everywhere, heard she was there, and got as far as the office door to interview her. But Mr. Jones bravely stood there, paste-brush in hand, and saved her from the cruel infliction.
And thus she lived on, day after day, until almost three weeks had passed, and then there came to her a telegram from the West.
Oh, what a joyous look came over her face when she read it!
Jones said, when he told the little wife at home about it, that Miss Hattie looked just as she, the little wife, had looked when she stood up in church and promised to be his until death should them part.
“Is it from the boss?” he asked.
“Yes, yes, and such glorious news!” she cried.
“Then he has got the bindery started?” asked Jones.
“He says not one word about the bindery,” said Miss Butler, abruptly.
And Jones was left to wonder what on earth the news could be that was so glorious, and yet not a word about the branch.