"Yesterday—the finish of it. I'm waiting to see Hattie. She'll be tickled to death. She's ALWAYS hated it that Frank had a grocery store, you know; and since the money's come, and she's been going with the Gaylords and the Pennocks, and all that crowd, she's felt worse than ever. She was saying to me only last week how ashamed she was to think that her friends might see her own brother-in-law any day wearing horrid white coat, and selling molasses over the counter. My, but Hattie'll be tickled all right—or 'Harriet,' I suppose I should say, but I never can remember it.

"But what is Frank going to—to do with himself?" demanded Miss Maggie. "Why, Flora, he'll be lost without that grocery store!"

"Oh, he's going to travel, first. He says he always wanted to, and he's got a chance now, and he's going to. They're going to the Yellowstone Park and the Garden of the Gods and to California. And that's another thing that worries Jane—spending all that money for them just to ride in the cars."

"Is she going, too?" queried Mr. Smith.

"Oh, yes, she's going, too. She says she's got to go to keep Frank from spending every cent he's got," laughed Miss Flora. "I was over there last night, and they told me all about it."

"When do they go?"

"Just as soon as they can get ready. Frank's got to help Donovan, the man that's bought the store, a week till he gets the run of things, he says. Then he's going. You wait till you see him." Miss Flora got to her feet, and smoothed out the folds of her skirt. "He's as tickled as a boy with a new jack-knife. And I'm glad. Frank has been a turrible hard worker all his life. I'm glad he's going to take some comfort, same as I am."

When Miss Flora had gone, Miss Maggie turned to Mr. Smith with eyes that still carried dazed unbelief.

"DID Flora say that Frank Blaisdell had sold his grocery stores?"

"She certainly did! You seem surprised."

"I'm more than surprised. I'm dumfounded."

"Why? You don't think, like Mrs. Jane, that he ought not to enjoy his money, certainly?"

"Oh, no. He's got money enough to retire, if he wants to, and he's certainly worked hard enough to earn a rest."

"Then what is it?"

Miss Maggie laughed a little.

"I'm not sure I can explain. But, to me, it's—just this: while he's got plenty to retire UPON, he hasn't got anything to—to retire TO."

"And, pray, what do you mean by that?"