"I suppose she could have earned an honest living, like anybody else," Mrs. Gray said.
"Well, anyway," Alice said, thoughtfully, "this advertisement is queer. She had no relations that father ever heard of; but there might be some one. What do you think, Mrs. Gray?"
"There might be," Rebecca said. She thought to herself that it was very probable; that first wife had brought Robert Gray beauty and love; it only needed that she should bring him money to make it all perfect. In her bleak mind a window of imagination suddenly opened, and she had a vision of what wealth would mean to her husband, coming as a gift from those dead hands. She set her lips, and said: "Better find out about it, Luther. Write to the man and say that a person of that name before her marriage, died here in Old Chester, leaving a child—and don't keep your hands in your pockets; it's bad manners."
"Do you really think it is worth while, ma'am?" Luther said, incredulously.
"Of course it is," said Alice. "Suppose it should be some inheritance? Such things do happen."
"In story-books," Lute said.
"Well, then I'd like to be in a story-book," Alice said, sighing. "Just think, Lute, we might pay for the press and pay off the mortgage!"
"Golly!" said Lute.
Then they fell to making all sorts of plans, gayly, each tripping the other up with the prosaic reminder of improbability.
"Or, if it should be anything," Luther said, "it won't be more than $100."