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*****

That night, after putting her mother to bed, she pinned a shawl over her head, threw her mother’s cloak about her shoulders, sneaked into Maria’s house, and crept up into her friend’s room like a burglar. What was to be done must be done quickly, but intelligently.

“I’ve got some money,” she exclaimed to the astonished girl who, half undressed, sat writing at her table. (It was after nine o’clock–an unheard-of hour for visiting.) “How much stock can I buy for two hundred dollars?” and she shook out the check, keeping her finger over the signature.

“Twenty shares,” answered Maria.

“How do I get it?”

“Send the money to Keep & Co. Oh, you got a check! Well, put ‘Keep & Co.’ on–here, I’ll do it, and you sign your name underneath. And I’ll write ’em a letter and tell ’em I helped sell it to you. Oh, ain’t I glad, Ab. You must be getting awful big pay to have saved all that. Wish I–“

“How long before I know?” She had not much time to talk–her mother might wake and call her.

“They’ll telephone you. You got a long-distance, ain’t you, in the office? Yes, I seen it.”

Abbie took the name of the senior partner, replaced the check, and was by her own fire again. The mother hadn’t stirred.

All the next day she waited for the rattle of the bell. At three o’clock she sprang to the ‘phone.

“This Miss Todd–postmistress?”

“Yes.”

“Got your check–bought you twenty Rock Creek at ten—mail you certificate to-morrow.”

The following morning the certificate took the place of the check–pinned tight. She could feel it crinkle when she walked. All that day she moved about her office like one dazed. There was no exaltation–no thrill of triumph. A dull, undefined terror took possession of her. What if the stock went down in price and she couldn’t pay back the money? Of whom, then, could she borrow? Repay Hiram she must and would. Again her mother’s warning words rang in her ears. Then came the resolve never to tell her. If it went right she would add to the dear woman’s comforts in silence. If it went wrong–but it couldn’t go wrong: Maria had said so: the papers had said so: the posters said so–everybody and everything said so.

As the day wore on she became so nervous that she mixed the letters in their pigeon-holes.

“That ain’t for me, Miss Todd,” was called out half a dozen times when B or F or S letters had gone into the wrong box. “Guess you must a-got it in the B’s by mistake. Woolgathering, ain’t ye?”

Maria was her only confidante and her only comfort. The Boston girl laughed when she listened to her fears, and braced her up with fairy stories of the winnings of Miss Henders and Slathers and the money they were making; but the relief was only temporary.

Soon the strain began to show itself in her face. “You ain’t sick, Abbie, be you?” asked the mother. “No? Well, you look kind o’ peaked. Don’t work too hard, child. Maybe something’s worryin’ you–something you ain’t told me. No man I don’t know about, is there?” and the mother’s sad eyes searched the daughter’s.

To all these inquiries the girl only shook her head, adding that the down mail was late and a big one and she had hurried to sort it.

When the Boston mail arrived the next morning and was dumped from its bag upon her sorting-table, her own name flamed out on one of Keep & Co.’s envelopes.

Abbie broke the seal and devoured its contents with bated breath, her fingers trembling:

We are happy to inform you that the last sales of Rock Creek ranged from 13 to 14 3/4–15 bid at close. We confidently expect the stock will sell at 20 before the week is out. We shall be glad to receive your further orders as well as those of any of your friends.

Abbie’s heart gave a bound; the blood mounted to the roots of her hair.