not large, the time limit for paying it indefinite."

"Twenty thousand dollars?" Martie, who had a passion for guessing,
ventured eagerly.

"Not so much." But Malcolm was pleased to have the reality so much
more moderate than the guess. "Between two and three thousand."

"Some money!" Leonard exclaimed. He grinned at Martie
contemptuously. "TWENTY!" said he.

"Your sister naturally has not much idea of the value of money,"
Malcolm said, with what was for him rare tolerance. "Yes, it is a
large sum, but I can give it, and if my townspeople turn to me for
this tribute to their most distinguished pioneer ..."

During the rest of the meal no other subject was discussed.

The evening was bright with memories and dreams for Martie. When a
large dish of stewed apples in tapioca had been eaten, the whole
family rose and left the room, and Belle, the little maid, came in
wearily, alone, to attack the disordered table. For two hours the
sound of running water and the dragging of Belle's heavy feet would
be heard in the kitchen. Meanwhile, Belle's mother, in a small house
down in the village, would keep looking at the clock and wondering
whatever had become of Belle, and Belle's young man would loiter
disconsolately at the bridge, waiting.

The three Monroe girls and their mother went into the parlour,
Malcolm going across the hall to a dreary library, where he had an