“I did not dream there could be such a person as that girl is!” she exclaimed, throwing the letters back into the box and sliding it into a corner out of her sight. “That girl deserves nothing. False to her friends who try to help her, a flirt and a cheat. How—how terrible!”
For some time she sat and stared into space. “I suppose,” she murmured dejectedly, “that very few of them are worthy of any aid. And yet, there must be some.”
She took up the box from the big family trunk. In this she read a beautiful sad story of a father, mother and two little girls. Their pictures were all there. So too were the girls’ baby books and the father’s sharp-shooter’s badge.
The letters told the story of a brave but futile fight against poverty that had advanced upon them like a storm in the night.
“They lost their home,” she whispered. “Next they lost their furniture, all those things that had become dear to them. And now, here, last of all, is their trunk. The wreck of the grandest thing God’s eyes ever rested upon—a home.
“But at least—” She clenched her hands fiercely. “At least they shall have these trophies back. I shall write to the mother and offer them to her without charge.
“Why not in every deserving case?” she exclaimed, springing to her feet and hopping about the room. Here was a big idea. This should be a beginning. Perhaps in time she could arrange to hold the entire contents of a trunk until the real owner could redeem it.
She fancied her uncle frowning upon this. “But let him frown!” she exclaimed belligerently.
The thought was a comforting one. With it, after a trying day, she soon fell fast asleep.
She was awakened, as on the previous day, by a whisper at dawn. There was no “Good morning,” no “Cheerio!” this time. Words came short and quick.