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day that he would never see anybody prettier than she was, not if he lived to be as old as uncle Abner.”
    “A-ahem!” said Mr. Rawley, uncrossing his feet and recrossing them again and putting his two thumbs together as he looked at them seriously under his bushy eyebrows. “Yes. Ah! Well, and did that uncle have any—ah—heirs?”
    Celia wanted to laugh. She had already begun to plan how she would make aunt Hannah laugh by a letter she would write describing this interview with the lawyers, but she kept her face straight and answered steadily.
    “I do not know.”
    “Well, I must say, my dear young lady,” remarked Mr. Rawley, after a somewhat prolonged pause, “that your evidence is somewhat—that is to say,—inadequate. You could hardly expect us, with so little to go upon—that is to say, without more investigation, you could hardly expect us—”
    “You forget sir,” said Celia, really laughing now, “that I have not the slightest idea what all this is about. I expect nothing. I came here to be informed.”
    The old lawyer gave her another searching look and then seemed to conclude that she was honest.
    “Well, young lady, I think I may safely tell you this much. There was property of Mr. Abner Murray’s, which naturally descended to his only son. This son had been in India for years. He did not return at his father’s death, and in fact his whereabouts was not definitely known, until a very short time ago, when positive information of his death without heirs was received. The property would then revert to Mr. Abner Murray’s next of kin, and his heirs. Mr. Abner Murray had a brother, who is supposedly your father’s father. If this should prove to be the case, through his death and your father’s, his only heir, you being the only living child of your father, the property would naturally fall to you. Do you follow me closely?”
    Celia looked at Mr. Rawley respectfully now and very gravely. The matter had taken on a different aspect. It was a complete surprise. She had not even in her wildest dreams allowed herself to hope for any such thing. Fortunes only fell to girls in books, not to flesh-and-¬blood, hardworking, everyday girls.
    She looked at the lawyer in silence a minute and then she smiled gravely and said:
    “That would be very nice Wit’s true. I wish it might be. And now I suppose you are done with me for the present, until you have investigated the truth of my statements.”
    Mr. Rawley seemed surprised that she took it so coolly and asked no more questions. She rose as if to go. The truth was she had caught a glimpse of the clock and she saw that she had barely time to reach her counter before the limit of her nooning would be over, and she had had no lunch. Her position might be forfeited if she exceeded her time. That was worth to her at present all the mythical fortunes that the future might hold for her. So, without more ado, she hurried away, and not even stopping for a single bite to eat, laid aside her wraps and was in her place behind the counter when the minute hand pointed just one minute after the time allotted her.
    It was a very busy afternoon. She had not much time to think. Everybody seemed to want ribbons. “Perhaps I shall be in a position to buy some of these yards myself, instead of measuring them off for other people, some time, if that old Mr. Rawley ever finds out whether /am 1, “she thought to herself as she skillfully clipped off two yards of blue satin and three yards of pink taffeta.
    “Property!” he had said. What did property mean? Had great uncle Abner left an old house standing some- where, which would be of no earthly use to anybody unless sold, and bring nothing then? Or perhaps it was some musty old library. She had no faith that there was much money. Such things did not run in their family. It would turn out to be very little. But oh, what if it should be something worthwhile? What, for instance, if it should be a thousand dollars! What might