on the futility of the sacrifice he had made, since his father insisted
on selling everything for old metal; but he said nothing, because he was
dreadfully disappointed.

Near the town they met the postman. As a rule Barbara got the mail when
she went to market, and Overholt was not even going to ask the man if
there were any letters for him. But the postman stopped him. There was
one from his wife, and it was registered. He signed the little receipt
for it, the man passed them on his rounds, and they slackened their
pace as Overholt broke the seal.

He uttered a loud exclamation when he had glanced at the contents, and
he stood still in the road. Newton stared at him in surprise.

"A thousand dollars!" he cried, overcome with amazement. "A thousand
dollars! Oh, Helen, Helen--you've saved my life!"

He got to the side of the road and leaned against the fence, clutching
the letter and the draft in his hand, and gazing into his son's face,
half crazy with delight.

"She's saved it all for me, boy. Do you understand? Your mother has
saved all her salary for the Motor, and here it is! Look at it, look at
it! It's success, it's fame, it's fortune for us all! Oh, if she were
only here!"

Newton understood and rejoiced. He forgot his poor little attempt to
help, and his own disappointment, and everything except the present
glorious truth--not unadorned by the pleasant vision of the Christmas
turkey, vast now, and smoking, and flanked by perfect towers of stiff