``I don't know,'' replied Mildred. ``Perhaps
because it's got to be done.''

This seemed to them all--and to herself--a lame
excuse for such apparent hardness of heart. Her
father had always been SENDER-HEARTED--HAD NEVER
SPOKEN OF MONEY, OR ENCOURAGED HIS FAMILY IN SPEAKING OF IT.

A LONG AND PAINFUL SILENCE. THEN, THE WIDOW
ABRUPTLY:

``YOU'RE SURE, Frank, there's NO insurance?''

``Father always said that you disliked the idea,''
replied her son; ``that you thought insurance looked
like your calculating on his death.''

Under her husband's adroit prompting Mrs. Gower
had discovered such a view of insurance in her brain.
She now recalled expressing it--and regretted. But
she was silenced. She tried to take her mind of the sub-
ject of money. But, like Mildred, she could not. The
thought of imminent poverty was nagging at them like
toothache. ``There'll be enough for a year or so?''
she said, timidly interrogative.

``I hope so,'' said Frank.

Mildred was eying him fixedly again. Said she:
``Have you found anything at all?''