From the dining room across the hall, where she had been putting away the last of the supper dishes, hurried a tall slender girl, whose short wavy yellow hair and big brown eyes were set off to perfection by a green jersey dress. Expecting to see one of the neighbors when the door was opened, she was startled into an involuntary gasp as a messenger thrust forward a special delivery letter, inquiring curtly—“Miss Patricia Randall?”

“Y—es.”

“Sign here.”

Patricia signed his book, closed the door, and walked slowly into the living room staring down at the unexpected missive in her hand.

“What is it, Pat?” inquired her mother, glancing up from the hearth rug where she knelt trying to coax a blaze from a bed of charcoal and paper.

“A special delivery letter—for me.”

“For you?” repeated Mrs. Randall in surprise. “From whom?”

“I don’t know,” replied her daughter, frowning in a puzzled fashion.

“Well, open it and find out. Don’t stand staring at it like that,” urged her mother briskly.

Patricia sank into a low tapestry chair beside the fireplace and tore open the envelope. As she drew out the single sheet it contained, a slip dropped from it onto her lap. Still holding the folded letter she picked up the slip and exclaimed:

“A cashier’s check for a thousand dollars!”

“Pat!” cried Mrs. Randall, reaching for the yellow paper to read it for herself. “Look at the letter, quick, and see who sent it!”

“It’s only a line. ‘For Patricia Randall to spend on a year at Granard College.’ Oh—why—Mums!”

Patricia flung herself on her mother so suddenly that Mrs. Randall lost her balance, and the two fell in a heap on the rug.

“Mary! Patricia!” ejaculated a horrified masculine voice from the doorway. “What in the world—”

“Oh, Dad!” cried the girl, springing up and giving a helping hand to her mother. With scarcely more effort than that of her daughter Mrs. Randall regained her feet, and they stood facing Mr. Randall’s astonished gaze.

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