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decision and had never asked her again. Perhaps they dreaded any change in the routine of their lives as much she dreaded to come into theirs.
    And then suddenly they both died, Aunt Abigail outliving Uncle Jonathan by only a few months.
    It was a great surprise to Martha Spicer after her aunt’s funeral to have the lawyer tell her that the house and quite a substantial bank account, besides some modest thousands in good securities, had been left to her. It had never occurred to her that there would be anything left, or that if there were that she would get it. But she was the only living relative, and there was no will, so there was simply no one else to inherit it. Perhaps the old couple, in spite of scripture, had hoped to find some way of taking their worldly possessions with them. But however that was, Martha Spicer, after twenty-seven years of hard work, suddenly found herself independent, a woman of leisure.
    She had never thought about inheriting money. Certainly not from her uncle and aunt, and of course there was no one else. Uncle Jonathan had always talked about the house as if it were mortgaged up to its full value and they were just about ready to walk into the poor house. And if she had known that there was any money, she would have expected Uncle Jonathan to leave it to a hospital where it could work for him in the next world as good works. He was a sanctimonious old man, as well as very ungenerous. So when Martha was told that the old house with its worn furnishings and a substantial bank account belonged to her, she was almost stunned. It did not seem right somehow to take it and do what she pleased with it. It was somehow like taking unfair advantage of Uncle Jonathan and Aunt Abigail.
    But after a little bit it began to seem like having heaven open suddenly and let down some of its gold paving for her use. She had saved, of course, out of her earnings, and had put away enough to keep her frugally in her old age. But to be able to stop work and live in her own house like any “woman of means” almost took her breath away. She was not quite sure even yet that she ought to accept it. Yet here it was, and the lawyers and the judge said it was hers.
    She even questioned at first whether she wouldn’t continue on at the store, and just rent the house. Get a better boarding place perhaps and broaden out her life, go to a lecture now and then, maybe give something to missions. That ought to please the dead relatives. But after thinking it over carefully she came to the conclusion one night, why should she? She had always said she hated the store. Of course, she had done her work thoroughly and conscientiously, but she had never loved it the way some of the workers did. She had always longed for leisure to read, to lie down and rest her tired, sad heart, nurse her disappointments, and get a little comfort for the bitter ache that had been with her so long. She wanted to get a little beauty out of life before it was too late. To take the joy of living that she had always supposed was there for those who had the time to search for it.
    And so one day she went grimly to the store manager and offered her resignation. It eased her heart a little that he demurred and offered her more salary if she would reconsider, saying some very nice things about the work she had done with them, but she had made her decision and she was not one to change for a mere matter of a little more salary, especially now that she had inherited a tidy sum that would make her quite comfortable. So she agreed to stay long enough to train the one who was to take her place, and then one morning in early spring she packed her sparse belongings, paid her board bill, and went on the trolley car to her new home.
    But somehow when she arrived it did not give her the thrill she had expected. The house looked gloomy and desolate, and more than once during that first week while she was cleaning and putting the house in livable order, she found herself