"But he'll come back—you see if he don't!" Mrs. Jane's voice was still positive.

"What if he does? You'll still have your hundred thousand," smiled Mr. Smith.

"He won't take it back?"

"Of course not! I doubt if he could, if he wanted to."

"And we're really going to have a whole hundred thousand dollars?" breathed Mellicent.

"I reckon you are—less the inheritance tax, perhaps.

"What's that? What do you mean?" demanded Mrs. Jane. "Do you mean we've got to PAY because we've got that money?"

"Why, y-yes, I suppose so. Isn't there an inheritance tax in this State?"

"How much does it cost?" Mrs. Jane's lips were at their most economical pucker. "Do we have to pay a GREAT deal? Isn't there any way to save doing that?"

"No, there isn't," cut in her husband crisply. "And I guess we can pay the inheritance tax—with a hundred thousand to pay it out of. We're going to SPEND some of this money, Jane."

The telephone bell in the hall jangled its peremptory summons, and Mr. Frank answered it. In a minute he returned, a new excitement on his face.

"It's Hattie. She's crazy, of course. They're coming right over."

"Oh, yes! And they've got it, too, haven't they?" remembered Mellicent. "And Aunt Flora, and—" She stopped suddenly, a growing dismay in her eyes. "Why, he didn't—he didn't leave a cent to AUNT MAGGIE!" she cried.

"Gosh! that's so. Say, now, that's too bad!" There was genuine concern in Frank Blaisdell's voice.

"But why?" almost wept Mellicent.

Her mother sighed sympathetically.

"Poor Maggie! How she is left out—always!"

"But we can give her some of ours, mother,—we can give her some of ours," urged the girl.

"It isn't ours to give—yet," remarked her mother, a bit coldly.

"But, mother, you WILL do it," importuned Mellicent. "You've always said you would, if you had it to give."

"And I say it again, Mellicent. I shall never see her suffer, you may be sure,—if I have the money to relieve her. But—" She stopped abruptly at the sound of an excited voice down the hall. Miss Flora, evidently coming in through the kitchen, was hurrying toward them.

"Jane—Mellicent—where are you? Isn't anybody here? Mercy me!" she panted, as she reached the room and sank into a chair. "Did you ever hear anything like it in all your life? You had one, too, didn't you?" she cried, her eyes falling on the letter in her brother's hand. "But 'tain't true, of course!"

Miss Flora wore no head-covering. She wore one glove (wrong side out), and was carrying the other one. Her dress, evidently donned hastily for the street, was unevenly fastened, showing the topmost button without a buttonhole.

"Mr. Smith says it's true," triumphed Mellicent.

"How does he know? Who told him 'twas true?" demanded Miss Flora.