at the knot--where the table cover irradiated its fullness into
really graceful folds, falling over the orange box-here, on
account of the knob, no article was placed, and the rosette stood
defiant over the whole surrounding.

The girl placed the candle on a spot made clear for that small
round, tin stand, and then glancing anxiously at the door, stole
over to make sure that the bolt was shot, hurried back and
proceeded to untie the knot of string responsible for the drapery
over the orange box. By the glare of the candle's flame her
fingers could be seen stained with oil, and grim, as they expertly
worked at the tied-up skirt, and finally succeeded in pulling
apart the ragged folds. Quickly she slipped one small hand beneath
the calico, and, obtaining her quest, drew back to examine it.

One, two, three green bills. Her savings and her fortune. Lights
and shadows crossing the youthful face betrayed the hopes, and
fears mingling with, such emotions as the girl lived through in
this crowded hour, but no sooner had she slipped the small roll of
bills into the flaring neck of her thin blouse, than a shaking at
the door caused her to kick the telescope bag under the bed,
hastily readjust the cover of the orange box, blow out the
capering candle flame, and then open the door. A woman young in
face but old in posture scuffled in. She wore a shawl on her head,
although the season was warm April, and the plentiful quantities
of material swathed in her attire proclaimed her foreign.

"Oh, Dagmar. I am tired," she sighed. "I thought you would come
down to fix supper for papa. You do not change your skirt? No?"