CHAPTER II


The next morning there was a buzz of excitement in the Doane home
for old ladies. Word had got around that Drusilla had been left a
fortune and was going away. Some of the ladies were plainly envious
and said spiteful, catty things, while others were glad that at least
one of their number would be able to leave behind the "home"--the
living on charity--that nightmare of the old. Drusilla had endeared
most of them to her by her many kindly acts, prompted by a loving
heart that even years of poverty and unappreciated labor for others
had not hardened.

She passed the morning in looking over her few possessions and
making little packages of the things she treasured to be given to her
friends after she left. The handkerchiefs she had embroidered before
her eye-sight was bad, she left for Barbara. A little lace cap that
had been given her years ago and which she had never worn, thinking
it too "fancy," was for the old lady who had seen better days. The
heavy shawl was for the oldest inmate, Grandma Perkins, who always
suffered with the cold. The warm bed-stockings were neatly folded and
left with a little word of love to Mary, who had rheumatism; and to
Mrs. Childs, the beauty of the place, she left her lace fichu.

There was ample room within the tiny trunk for her clothing. The
plain black cashmere that had been turned and returned until it had
nearly forgotten its original texture, but which was her Sunday best,