"Hm-m, I see," nodded Mrs. McGuire soberly. Then, with a sidewise
glance into Susan's face, she added: "But ain't that likely to cost--
some money?"

"Yes, 't is." Susan went back to her work abruptly. With stern
efficiency she shook out a heavy sheet and hung it up. Stooping, she
picked up another one. But she did not shake out this. With the same
curious abruptness that had characterized her movements a few moments
before, she dropped the sheet back into the basket and came close to
the fence again. "Mis' McGuire, won't you please let me take a copy of
them two women's magazines that you take? That is, they--they do print
poetry, don't they?"

"Why, y-yes, Susan, I guess they do. Thinkin' of sendin' 'em some of
yours?" The question was asked in a derision that was entirely lost on
Susan.

"Yes, to get some money." It was the breathless, palpitating Susan
that Daniel Burton had seen a week ago, and like Daniel Burton on that
occasion, Mrs. McGuire went down now in defeat before it.

"To--to get some money?" she stammered.

"Yes--for Keith's eyes, you know," panted Susan. "An' when I sell
these, I'm goin' to write more--lots more. Only I've got to find a
place, first, of course, to sell 'em. An' I did send 'em off last
week. But they was jest cheap magazines; an' they sent a letter all
printed sayin' as how they regretted very much they couldn't accept
'em. Like enough they didn't have money enough to pay much for 'em,