ABIJAH'S BUBBLE

By F. Hopkinson Smith

1909

Ezekiel Todd, her dry, tight-fisted, lean father, had named her, bawlingit out so loud that the more suitable, certainly the more euphonious, "Evangeline, " proffered in a timid whisper by her faded and somewhatromantic mother, was completely smothered. 

"I baptize thee, Evang--" began the minister, when Ezekiel's voice roseclear:

"Abijah, I tell ye, Parson--A-b-i-j-a-h--Abijah!" And Abijah it was. 

The women were furious. 

"Jes' like Zeke Todd. He's too ornery to live. I come mighty nearspeakin' right out, and hadn't been that Martha held on to me I would. Call her Abbie, for short, Mrs. Todd, " exclaimed Deacon Libby's wife, "and shame him. "

Abbie never minded it. She was too little to remember, she always said, and there were few people in the village of Taylorsville present at thechristening who did. 

Old Si Spavey, however, never forgot. "You kin call yourself Abbie ifyou choose, " he used to say, "and 'tain't none o' my business, but Iwas in the meetin'-house and heard Zeke let drive, and b'gosh it soundedjust like a buzz-saw strikin' the butt-end of a log. 'Abijah! _Abijah!_he hollered. Shet Parson Simmons up same's a steel trap. Gosh, but itwas funny!"

Only twice since the christening had she to face the consequences ofher father's ill temper. This was after his death, when the needs ofthe poor mother made a small mortgage imperative and she must sign as awitness. It came with a certain shock, but there was no help for it, andshe went through the ordeal bravely, dotting the "i" and giving a littleflourish to the tail of the "h". 

The second time was when she signed her application for the position ofpostmistress of the village. The big mill-owner, Hiram Taylor, broughther the paper. 

"Got to put it all in, Miss Abbie, " he said with a laugh. "Shut youreyes and sign it and then forget it. Awful, ain't it?--but that's thelaw, and there ain't no way of getting round it, I guess. "

Hiram Taylor had left the village years before, rather suddenly, somehad thought, when he was a strapping young fellow of twenty-two orthree, and had moved West and stayed West until he came back the yearbefore with a wife and a houseful of children. Then the lawyers in thevillage got busy, and pretty soon some builders came down from Boston, only fifty miles away, and then a lot of bricklayers; and some cars wereswitched off on the siding, loaded with lumber and lath and brick, andnext a train-load of machinery, and so the mills were running againwith Hiram sole owner and in full charge. One of the first things he didafter his arrival--the following morning, really--was to look up Abbie'smother. He gave a littie start when he saw how shabby the cottagelooked; no paint for years--steps rotting--window-blinds broken, with ahinge loose. He gave a big one when a thin, hollow-chested woman, grayand spare, opened the door at his knock. 

"Hiram!" she gasped, and the two went inside, and the door was shut. 

All she said when Abbie came home from school--she was teaching thatyear--was: "The new mill-owner came to see me. His name's Taylor. "

That same day a heavy-set man with gray hair and beard, and jet-blackeyebrows shading two kindly eyes, got out of his wagon, hitched hishorse to a post in front of the school-house and stepped to Abbie'sdesk. 

"I'm Hiram Taylor, up to the mills. Going to send one of my girls toyou to-morrow and thought I'd drop in. " Then he looked around and said:"Want another coat of whitewash on these walls, don't you, and--anda new stove? This don't seem to be drawin' like it ought to. If themtrustees won't get ugly about it, I got a new stove up to the mill Idon't want, and I'll send it down. " And he did. The trustees shruggedtheir shoulders, but made no objections. If Hiram Taylor wanted to throwhis money away it was none of their business. Abbie Todd never said shewas cold--not as they had "heard on. "

When the new school building was finished--a brick structure with stonetrimmings, steam-heated, and varnished desks and seats--the craze forthe new and up-to-date so dominated the board that they paid Abbie amonth's salary in advance and then replaced her with a man graduate fromConcord. Abbie took her dismissal as a matter of course. Nothing goodever lasted long. When she went up one step she always slid back two. Ithad been that way all her life. 

Hiram heard of it and came rattling into the village, where he expressedhimself at a town meeting in language distinguished for its clearnessand force. The result was Abbie's application for the position ofpostmistress. 

This time he didn't consult the trustees or anybody else. He wrote aprivate note to the Postmaster-General, who was his friend, and theappointment came by return mail. 

Mr. Taylor would often chat with her through the little window withwhich she held converse with the public--he often came himself for hismail--but she made no mention of her state of mind. She was earning herliving, and she was for the time content. He had helped her and she wasgrateful--more than this it was not her habit to dwell upon. One thingshe was convinced of: she wouldn't keep the position long. 

Her mother knew her misgivings, and so did a small open wood fire inthe sitting-room. Many a night the two would croon together. Themother shrivelled and faded; Abbie herself being over thirty--notso fresh-looking as she had been--not so pretty--never had been verypretty. Her mother knew, too, how hard she had always struggled to dosomething better; how she had studied drawing at the normal school whenshe was preparing to be a teacher; and how she had spent weeks in theelaboration of wall-paper patterns, which she had sent to the DecorativeArt Society in Boston, only to have them returned to her in the samewrapper in which they had been mailed, with the indorsement "notsuitable. " That's why she didn't think she was going to be postmistresslong. Far into the night these talks would continue-long after the otherneighbors had gone to bed--nine o'clock maybe--sometimes as late asten--an unheard-of thing in Taylorsville, where everybody was up atdaylight. 

Then one day an extraordinary thing happened--extraordinary so far asher modest post-office was concerned. A poster appeared on the wall ofher office--a huge card, big as the top of a school desk, bearing inlarge type this legend: "Rock Creek Copper Company. Keep & Co. , Agents, "and at the bottom, in small type, directions as to the best way ofsecuring the stock before the lists were closed. She had noticed thename of the company emblazoned on many of the communications addressedto people in the village--the richer ones--but here it was in coldtype--"hot type, " for that matter, for it was in flaming red--on thewall, in front of her window. 

Abbie lifted her head in surprise when she saw what had been donewithout even "By your leave. " She had found auction sales, sheriff'snotices and tax warnings opposite her window, but never copper mines. The longer she looked at it the better she liked it. There was a cheerybit of color in its blazing letters, and she was partial to bits ofcolor. That's why she kept plants all winter in the little sitting-roomat home, and nursed one cactus that gave out a scarlet bloom once in somany months. 

It was Miss Maria Furgusson, of Boston--summer boarder at the nextcottage; second floor, six dollars a week, including washing--thatrevived, kept alive, in fact, fanned to fever heat, Abbie's firstimpression of the poster. Maria called for her mail, and the intimacyhad gone so far that before the week was out "Miss Todd" had beenreplaced by "Abbie" and then "Ab, " and Miss Furgusson by "Maria"--thepostmistress being too dignified for further abbreviation. 

"Oh, there's our lovely copper mine--where did you get it? Who put itup?"

Maria was a shirt-waisted young woman with a bang and a penetratingvoice. She had charge of the hosiery counter in a department store andcould call "Cash" in tones that brought instant service. This, with herpromptness, had endeared her to many impatient customers--especiallythose from out of town who wanted to catch trains. It was through oneof these "hayseeds" that she secured board at so reasonable a price inTaylorsville during her vacation. 

"What do you know about it?" inquired Abbie. Such things were Greek toher. 

"Know? I've got twenty shares, and I'm going to have money to burnbefore long. "

Abbie bent her head, and took in as much of Miss Furgusson as she couldsee through the square hole in her window. 

"Who gave it to you?" The idea of a girl like Maria ever having moneyenough to buy anything of that kind never occurred to her. 

"Nobody; I bought it; paid two dollars a share for it and now it's upto three, and Mr. Slathers, our floor-walker, says it's going totwenty-five. I've got a profit of twenty dollars on mine now. "

Abbie made a mental calculation; twenty dollars was a considerable partof her month's salary. 

"And everybody in our store has got some. Mr. Slathers has made eighthundred dollars, and I know for sure that Miss Henders is going to leavethe cloak department and set up a typewriting place, because she told meso; she's got a brother in the feed business who staked her. "

"Staked her? What's that?"

"Loaned her the money, " answered Maria, a certain pity in her voice forone so green and countrified. 

"How do you get it?" Abbie's eyes were shining like the disks of a brassletter scale and almost as large--they were still upon Maria. 

"The money?"

"No, the stock. "

"Why, send Mr. Keep the money and he buys the stock and sends you backthe certificate. Want to see mine? I've got it pinned in--Here it is. "

Abbie opened the door of the glass partition and beckoned to theshopgirl. She rarely allowed visitors inside, but this one seemed tohold the key to a new world. 

The girl slipped her fingers inside her shirtwaist and drew out a squarepiece of paper bearing the inscription of the poster in big letters. Atthe bottom of the paper a section of cement drain-pipe poured forth asteady stream of water, and the whole was underlined by a motto meaning"Peace and Plenty"--of water, no doubt. 

Abbie looked at the beautifully engraved document and a warm glowsuffused her face. Was it as easy as this? Did this little scrap ofpaper mean rest and the spreading of wings, and freedom for hermother? Then she caught her breath. She hadn't any brother in the feedbusiness---nor anywhere else, for that matter. How would she get themoney? She had only her salary; her mother earned little or nothing--theinterest on the mortgage would be due in a day or so; thank God it wasnearly paid off. Then her heart rose in her throat. Mr. Taylor! Why hewas so kind she never knew--but he was. But if he insisted as he hadwith the store and the position in the post-office! No--he had done toomuch already. Besides, she could never repay him if anything went wrong. No--this was not her chance for freedom. 

Abbie handed the certificate back. "Queer way of making money, " was allshe said as she reached for her hat and shawl, and went home to dinner. 

That evening after supper, the two crooning over the fire, Abbie talkedit over with her mother--not the stock--not a word of that--but of howMaria had made a lot of money, and how she wished she had a little ofher own so she could make some, too. This the mother retailed, the nextmorning, to her neighbor, who met the expressman, who thereupon sent itrolling through the village. In both its diluted and enriched form theneighbor had helped. The story was as follows:

"That Boston girl who was boardin' up to Skitson's had a thousanddollars in the bank-made it all in a month--so Abbie Todd, who knew her, said. It was a dead secret how she made it, but Abbie said if she hada few hundred dollars she could get rich, too. Beats all how smart somegirls is gettin' to be nowadays. "

The next morning Mr. Taylor called for his mail. He generally sent a boydown from the mill, but this time he came himself. 

"If you see anything lying around loose, Miss Abbie, where you can pickup a few dollars--and you must now and then--so many people going in andout from Boston and other places--and want a couple of hundred to helpout, let me know. I'll stake you, and glad to. "

In answer, Abbie passed his mail through the square window. "Thank you, Mr. Taylor, " was all she said. "I won't forget. "

Hiram fingered his mail and hung around for a minute. Then with theremark: "Guess that expressman was lying--I'll find out, anyway, " he gotinto his buggy and drove away. 

"He'll _stake_ me, will he?" said Abbie thoughtfully. "That's whatthe feed man did for Maria's friend. " With the stake she could get thestock, and with the stock the clouds would lift! Perhaps her turn wascoming, after all. 

Then she resumed her work pigeon-holing the morning's mail. One was fromKeep & Co. , judging from the address in the corner, and was directed toMaria Furgusson, care Miss Skitson--a thick, heavy letter. This she laidaside. 

"Yes, a big one, " she called from the window as she passed it out tothat young woman five minutes later. "About the stock, isn't it!"

The girl tore open the envelope and gave a little scream. 

"Oh! Gone up to ten dollars a share! Oh, cracky!--how much does thatmake? Here, Ab--do you figure--twenty shares at--Ten! Why, that's twohundred dollars! What?--it can't be! Yes, it is. Oh, that's splendid!I'm going right back to answer his letter"--and she was gone. 

When the supper things were washed up that night, and the towels hungbefore the stove to dry, and the faded old mother was resting in herchair by the fire, Abbie told her the facts as they existed. She hadseen the certificate with her own eyes--had had it in her hand and shehad read the letter from the broker, Mr. Keep. It was all true--everyword of it. Maria had borrowed forty dollars and now she could pay itback and have one hundred and sixty dollars left--more than she herselfcould earn in three months. 

"If I could get somebody to lend me a little money, Mother, " shecontinued, "I might--"

The girl stopped and stole a look at her mother sitting hunched up inher chair, her elbows on her knees, the chin resting on the palms ofher hands, the angle of her thin shoulders outlined through the coarse, worsted shawl--always a pathetic attitude to the daughter:--thisold mother broken with hard work and dulled by a life of continueddisappointment. 

"I was saying, Mother, perhaps I might get somebody to lend me a littlemoney, and then--"

The figure straightened up. "Don't do it, child!" There was a notealmost of terror in her voice. "Don't you ever do it! That was whatruined my father. Abbie--promise me--promise me, I say! You won't--youcan't. "

The girl laid her hand tenderly on her mother's shoulder. '

"Why, Mother, dear--why, what's the matter? You look as if you had seena ghost. "

Mrs. Todd drew her shawl closer about her shoulders and leaned nearer tothe girl, her voice trembling:

"It's worse than a ghost, child--it's a _debt!_ Debt along of money younever worked for; money somebody gives you sort o' friendly-like, andwhen you can't pay it back, they bite you, like dogs. No--let's sit hereand starve first, child. We can shut the door and nobody 'll know we'rehungry. " She straightened up and threw the shawl from her shoulders. Terror had taken the place of an undefined dread. 

"You ain't gettin' discouraged, Abbie, be you?" she continued in acalmer tone. "Don't get discouraged, child. I got discouraged when Iwas younger than you, and I ain't never been happy since. You never knewwhy, and I ain't goin' to tell you now, but it's been black night allthese years--all 'cept you. You've been the only thing made me live. Ifyou get discouraged, child, I can't stand it. Say you ain't, Abbie--letme hear you say it--please Abbie!"

The girl rose from her chair and stood looking down at her mother. Thesudden outburst, so unusual in one so self-restrained, the unmistakablesuffering in the tones of her voice, thrilled and alarmed her. Her firstimpulse was to throw her arms about her mother's neck and weep with her. This had been her usual custom when the load seemed too heavy for hermother to bear. Then the more practical side of her nature asserteditself. It was strength, not sympathy, she wanted. Slipping her handunder her mother's arm, she raised her to her feet, and in a firm, decided voice, quite as a hospital nurse would speak to a restlesspatient, she said:

"You'd better not sit up any longer, Mother dear. Come, I'll help putyou to bed. "

There was no resistance. Whatever suddenly aroused memory had stirredthe outburst, the paroxysm was over now. 

"Well, maybe I am tired, child, " was all she said, and the two left theroom. 

"Poor, dear old Mother! Poor, tired old Mother!" the girl remarked toherself when she had resumed her place by the dying fire. "Wonder ifI'll get that way when I'm as old as she is!"

Then the hopelessness of the struggle she was making rose before her. How much longer would this go on? Up at six o'clock; a cup of coffee anda piece of bread; then the monotonous sorting of letters and papers--theceaseless answering of stupid questions; then half an hour for dinner;then the routine again till train time, and home to the mother and thetwo chairs by the fire, only to begin the dreary tread-mil! again thenext morning. And with this the daily growing older--older; her facethinner and more pinched, the shoulders sharp; her hair gray, head bent, just as her poor mother's was, and, with all that, hardly money enoughto buy herself a pair of shoes--never enough to give her dear mother theslightest luxury. 

Discouraged! Hadn't she reason to be?

The next morning Hiram walked into the post-office and called to Abbie, through the square window, to open the door. Once inside he loosened hisfur driving-coat, took out a long, black wallet, picked out a thin slipof paper and laid it on Abbie's desk. 

"I have been thinking over what I told you yesterday. There's a checkdrawn to your order for two hundred dollars. All you got to do is to putyour name on the back of it and it's money. It's good--never knew onethat warn't. "

The girl started back. 

"I didn't ask you for it. I don't--"

"I know you didn't, and when you did it would be too late maybe--got tocatch things sometimes when they're flying past. I don't know whetherit's those town lots they're booming over to Haddam's Corners, and Idon't care, but if that ain't enough there's more where that came from. Good-day!" and he slammed the glass door behind him. Abbie picked upthe thin slip of paper and studied every line on its face, from the rednumber in the upper corner to "Hiram Taylor" in a bold, round hand. Thenher eyes lighted on "Abijah Todd or order. "

Yes, it was hers--all of it. Not to spend, but to _make money out of_. Then her mother's words of warning rang clear: "Worse than a ghost, mychild!" Should she--could she take it? She turned to lay it in a draweruntil she could hand it back to him and her eyes fell upon the posterframed in by the square of her window. She stopped and shut the drawer. Was she never to have her chance? Would the treadmill never end? Wouldthe dear mother's head never be lifted? Folding the check carefully, she loosened the top button of her dress and pushed it inside. There itburned like a hot coal. 

*****

That night, after putting her mother to bed, she pinned a shawl over herhead, threw her mother's cloak about her shoulders, sneaked into Maria'shouse, and crept up into her friend's room like a burglar. What was tobe done must be done quickly, but intelligently. 

"I've got some money, " she exclaimed to the astonished girl who, halfundressed, sat writing at her table. (It was after nine o'clock--anunheard-of hour for visiting. ) "How much stock can I buy for two hundreddollars?" and she shook out the check, keeping her finger over thesignature. 

"Twenty shares, " answered Maria. 

"How do I get it?"

"Send the money to Keep & Co. Oh, you got a check! Well, put 'Keep &Co. ' on--here, I'll do it, and you sign your name underneath. And I'llwrite 'em a letter and tell 'em I helped sell it to you. Oh, ain't Iglad, Ab. You must be getting awful big pay to have saved all that. WishI--"

"How long before I know?" She had not much time to talk--her mothermight wake and call her. 

"They'll telephone you. You got a long-distance, ain't you, in theoffice? Yes, I seen it. "

Abbie took the name of the senior partner, replaced the check, and wasby her own fire again. The mother hadn't stirred. 

All the next day she waited for the rattle of the bell. At three o'clockshe sprang to the 'phone. 

"This Miss Todd--postmistress?"

"Yes. "

"Got your check--bought you twenty Rock Creek at ten---mail youcertificate to-morrow. "

The following morning the certificate took the place of thecheck--pinned tight. She could feel it crinkle when she walked. Allthat day she moved about her office like one dazed. There was noexaltation--no thrill of triumph. A dull, undefined terror tookpossession of her. What if the stock went down in price and she couldn'tpay back the money? Of whom, then, could she borrow? Repay Hiram shemust and would. Again her mother's warning words rang in her ears. Thencame the resolve never to tell her. If it went right she would add tothe dear woman's comforts in silence. If it went wrong--but it couldn'tgo wrong: Maria had said so: the papers had said so: the posters saidso--everybody and everything said so. 

As the day wore on she became so nervous that she mixed the letters intheir pigeon-holes. 

"That ain't for me, Miss Todd, " was called out half a dozen times when Bor F or S letters had gone into the wrong box. "Guess you must a-got itin the B's by mistake. Woolgathering, ain't ye?"

Maria was her only confidante and her only comfort. The Boston girllaughed when she listened to her fears, and braced her up with fairystories of the winnings of Miss Henders and Slathers and the money theywere making; but the relief was only temporary. 

Soon the strain began to show itself in her face. "You ain't sick, Abbie, be you?" asked the mother. "No? Well, you look kind o' peaked. Don't work too hard, child. Maybe something's worryin' you--somethingyou ain't told me. No man I don't know about, is there?" and themother's sad eyes searched the daughter's. 

To all these inquiries the girl only shook her head, adding that thedown mail was late and a big one and she had hurried to sort it. 

When the Boston mail arrived the next morning and was dumped from itsbag upon her sorting-table, her own name flamed out on one of Keep &Co. 's envelopes. 

Abbie broke the seal and devoured its contents with bated breath, herfingers trembling:

We are happy to inform you that the last sales of Rock Creek ranged from13 to 14 3/4--15 bid at close. We confidently expect the stock will sellat 20 before the week is out. We shall be glad to receive your furtherorders as well as those of any of your friends. 

Abbie's heart gave a bound; the blood mounted to the roots of her hair. 

"Fifteen--twenty--why--why! that's two hundred dollars for me afterpaying Mr. Taylor. " The chill of doubt was over now. The fever of hopehad set in. "Two hundred! Two hundred!" she kept repeating, as herfingers caressed the certificate snuggling close to her heart. 

When she swung wide the porch door and threw her arms around herastonished mother's neck, the refrain was still on her lips. It hadbeen years since the hard-working girl had given way to any such joyousoutburst. 

"Oh, I'm so happy! Don't ask me why--but I am!"

The mother kissed her in reply and patted the girl's shoulder. "There_is_ somebody, " she sighed to herself. "And they've made up again"--anda prayer trembled on her lips. 

Her joy now became contagious. The expressman noticed it; so did Mrs. Skitson and the storekeeper. So did Mr. Taylor, who stopped his wagonand leaned half out to shake her hand. 

"You do look wholesome this morning, and no mistake, Miss Abbie" (healways called her so). "Don't forget what I told you--lots more wherethat come from"--and he drove on muttering to himself: "Ain't no finerwoman in Taylorsville than Abbie Todd. "

Keep & Co. Letters arrived now by almost every mail. With these camea daily stock-list printed on tissue-paper, giving the sales on theexchange. Rock Creek was still holding its own between 13 and 15. "Frommy brokers, " she would say with a smile to Maria, falling into the waysof the rich. 

One of these letters, marked "Private and confidential, " she took toMaria. It was in the writer's own hand and signed by the senior memberof the firm. Literally translated into uncommercial language by thatfemale financier, it meant that Miss Todd, "_on notice from Keep & Co_. "should write her name at the bottom of the transfer blank on the backof the certificate and mail it to them. This done they would buy heranother ten shares of stock, using her certificate as additional margin. There was no question that Rock Creek would sell at forty before themonth ended, and they did not want her to be "left" when the "melon wascut. "

Another and a newer and a more vibrant song now rose to her lips. Fortyfor Rock Creek meant four--six--yes, eight hundred dollars--with twohundred to Mr. Taylor! Yes! Six hundred clear! The scrap of paper inher bosom was no longer a receipt for money paid, but an Aladdin's lampproducing untold wealth. 

That night the music burst from her lips before she had taken off hercloak and hat. 

"You made six hundred dollars, Abbie! _You!_" cried the mother, with anote of wonder in her voice. 

Then the whole story came out; her mother's arms about her, the palecheek touching her own, tears of joy streaming from both their eyes. First Maria's luck, then that of her fellow-clerks; then the letters, one after another, spread out upon her lap, the lamp held close, so thedim eyes could read the easier--down to the stake-money of two hundreddollars. 

"And who gave you that, child? Miss Furgusson?" The mother's heart wasstill fluttering. After all, the sun was shining. 

"No; Mr. Taylor. "

The mother put her hands to her head. 

"_Hiram!_ You ain't never borrowed any money of Hiram, have you?" shecried in an agonized voice. 

"But, Mother dear, he forced it upon me. He came--"

"Yes, that's what he did to me. Give it back to him, child, now, 'fore you sleep. Don't wait a minute. Borrowed two hundred dollars ofHiram--and my child, too! Oh, it can't be! It can't be!"

The mother dropped into a chair and rocked herself to and fro. The girlstarted to explain, to protest, to comfort her with promises; then shecrossed to where her mother was sitting, and stood patient until theparoxysm should pass. A sudden fright now possessed her; these attackswere coming on oftener; was her mother's mind failing? Was thereanything serious? Perhaps it would have been better not to tell her atall. 

The mother motioned Abbie to a chair. 

"Sit down, child, and listen to me. I ain't crazy; I ain't out of myhead--I'm only skeered. "

"But, Mother dear, I can get the money any day I want it. All I've gotto do is to telephone them and a check comes the next day. "

"Yes, I know--I know. " She was still trembling, her voice hardlyaudible. "But that ain't what skeers me; it's Hiram. He done the samething to me last December. Come in here and laid the bills on that tablebehind you and begged me to take 'em; he'd heard about the mortgage; hewanted to fix the house up, too. I put my hands behind my back and gotclose to the wall there. I couldn't touch it, and he begged and begged, and then he went away. Next he went to the school-house, and you knowwhat he did. That's why you got the post-office. "

A light broke in upon the girl. "And you've known him before?"

"Yes, forty years ago. He loved me and I loved him. We had bad luck, andmy father got into trouble. He and Hiram's father were friend's; beenboys together, and Hiram's father loaned him money. I don't know howmuch--I never knew, but considerable money. My father couldn't pay, andthen come bad blood. The week before Hiram and I were to be called inchurch they struck each other, and when Hiram took my father's part hisfather drove him out of his house, and Hiram hadn't nothing, and wentWest; and I never heard from him nor saw him till the day he come inhere last fall. Don't you see, child, you got to take him back hismoney?"

Abbie squared her shoulders. The blood of the Puritan was in her eyes. This was a fight for home and freedom. Her flintlock was between thecracks of her log cabin. The old mother, with the other women andchildren, lay huddled together in the far corners. This was no time forsurrender!

"No!" she cried in a firm voice. "I won't give it back, not till I getgood and ready. Mr. Taylor loaned me that two hundred dollars to makemoney with, and he won't get it again till I do. " She wondered at hercourage, but it seemed the only way to save her mother from herself. "What happened forty years ago has nothing to do with what's happeningto-day. "

The look in the girl's eyes; her courage; the ring of independence inher voice, the sureness and confidence of her words, began to have theireffect. The Genie of the Lamp was at work: the life-giving power of Goldwas being pumped from her own into the poor old woman's poverty-shrunkenveins. 

"And you don't think, child, that it will bring you trouble?"

"Bring trouble!" No!

The cabin was saved; the enemy was in retreat. She could sing oncemore! "It will bring nothing but joy and freedom, you precious oldMother! Do you know what I'm going to do?"

"What, child?"

"I'm going to pay off the mortgage, every cent of it. "

She said "I" now; it had been "we" all the years before: Keep rubbing, dear old Genie. "Then I'll fix up the house and paint it, and get yousome nice clothes, and a new cook stove that isn't all rusted out----"

"You won't resign, will you, Abbie--and leave me?" the mother exclaimed. The chill of possible desertion suddenly crept over her, (The Genie isoften unmindful of others, especially the poor. )

"Leave you! What, now? You darling Mother. As to resigning, I may later. But I'm going to Boston when I get my vacation and stay a week withMaria, and go to the opera if I never do another thing. Oh! just youwait, Mother, you and I will lead a different life after this. "

"And you think, Abbie, you'll make more than six hundred dollars?"Already the mother's veins were expanding--wonderful elixir, thisExtract of Gold. 

"Six hundred! Why, if the stock goes to what they call par--and that'swhere they all go, so Maria says--I'll have--have--two thousand, lessMr. Taylor's two hundred--I'll have eighteen hundred dollars!" The littlefellow in her bosom was rubbing away now with all his might. She couldhear his heart beat against her own. 

*****

It was nearly midnight when the two went to bed. Stick after stick hadbeen thrown on the fire; the logs had flamed and crackled in sympathywith their own joyous feelings, and had then fallen into piled-up coals, each heap a castle of delight, rosy in the glow of freshly enkindledhopes. 

And the song in her heart never ceased. Day by day a fresh note wasadded; everything she touched; everything she saw was transformed. The old tumble-down house with its propped-up furniture and makeshiftcarpets seemed to have become already the place she planned it to be. There would be vines over the door and a new summer kitchen at theback'; and there would be a porch where her mother could sit, flowersall about her--her dear mother, bent no longer, but fresh and rosy inher new clothes, smiling at her as she came up the garden path. 

And what delight it was just to breathe the air! Never had her step beenso light, or her daily walk to the dingy office--dingy no longer--sobracing. And the out-of-doors--the sky and drifting clouds; the lowhills, bleak in the winter's gloom--what changes had come over them? Wasit the first blush of the coming spring that had softened their lines, or had her eyes been blind to all their beauty? Oh! Marvellous elixirthat makes hopes certainty and gilds each cloud!

*****

One morning a man waiting for a letter from an absent son heardthe telephone ring, and saw Abbie drop her letters and catch up thereceiver:

"Yes, I'm Miss Todd. --Oh! Mr. Keep? Yes. --Yes--I've got it here. " Herface grew deathly white. "What! Selling at twelve!" The man feared shewas about to fall. "I thought you told me... A big slump! Well, I don'twant to lose if... Yes, I'll mail it right away... Reach you by the 9. 10to-morrow. "

"I hope you ain't got any bad news, have you?" the man asked in asympathetic voice. 

"No, " she answered in a choking voice, as she handed him his letter;then she turned her back and took the certificate from her bosom. 

"Selling at twelve, " she kept saying to herself; "perhaps at ten;perhaps at five. Would it go lower? Suppose it went down to nothing. What could she say to her mother? How would she pay Mr. Taylor?"Her breath came short; a dull sense of some impending calamity tookpossession of her. Everything seemed slipping from her grasp. 

An hour passed--two. In the interim she had indorsed the certificateand had dropped it into the open mouth of the night-bag. Again the bellsounded. 

"Yes, " she answered in a faint voice; her shoulder was against the wallnow for support. 

She was ready for the blow; all her life they had come this way. 

"Sold your twenty at ten. Mail you check for $190 on receipt ofcertificate. "

Abbie clutched her bosom as if for relief, but there came no answeringthrob. The little devil was gone, and the lamp with him. 

"And is it all over, Abbie?" asked her mother, as she drew her shawlcloser about her head. One stick of wood must last them till bedtimenow. 

"Yes--all. " The girl lay crouched at her feet sobbing, her head in hermother's lap. 

"Can you pay Hiram?"

"I have paid him in full. I gave him Mr. Keep's check and ten dollars ofmy pay--paid him this morning. He wouldn't take any interest. "

"Oh, that's good--that's good, child!" she crooned. 

There came a long pause, during which the two women sat motionless, themother looking into the smouldering coals. She had but few tears leftnone for disappointments like these. 

"And we have got to keep on as we have?"

"Yes. " The reply was barely audible. 

The mother lifted her thin, worn hand, and laid it on Abbie's head. 

"Well, child, " she said slowly, "you can thank God for one thing. _Youhad your dream_; ain't many even had that. "