She said not a word to Caro of the conversation between Florence and Suzanne, but she did pour out her heart to her good old friend, Jeremy Todd. “They are so different, so very different from the people my mother and father knew. Nobody cared who was rich or who was poor. If they were good and talented and kind, it was all that mattered, and no one could have better times than artists and their friends.” Mr. Todd nodded in assent. “I know that full well. ‘The life is more than meat, and the body than raiment.’” “I never understood that so well before,” replied Ellen reflectively. “It is like something my mother used to tell me her old mammy often said of a certain sordidly rich family: ‘Dey has money, but dey hasn’t nothin’ else.’ How true that can be of some.” Mr. Todd laughed. “That’s worth remembering, and one should be sorry for those who have nothing but money. With only that one cannot buy an appreciation of beauty, nor character, nor truth; in fact, few of the really worth-while things can be bought with money, and they are the rich who can enjoy the heaven-sent gifts instead of grubbing for what earth can supply.” “But it is mighty nice to have riches,” sighed Ellen. “To do good with, to help others, yes, and they are blest who have both the heavenly spirit and the earthly means.” “It is the earthly means I am yearning for just now. One reason I am so angry with Florence is that she hit upon the truth when she said I should be earning my living. Plenty of girls of sixteen do earn it, and I must be casting around to find a way to do the same. It is intolerable to be spoken of as a charity girl who is sponging on a relative.” Mr. Todd looked distressed. “I think, my dear, that your work is cut out for you while Rindy is laid up. When she is well it will be time enough for you to think of your independence. By the way, have you heard from your young friend about the violin?” “Not yet, and it’s getting to be time that I did. Of course I can’t expect he will be as prompt as I want him to be, but I am getting a trifle impatient.” Still it was several days before the letter did come, and in the meantime Caro asked Ellen what she had done with the violin. “I am letting Mr. Todd keep it,” she explained. “It is of more use to him than to me.” “Oh, but I love to hear you play that pretty piece on it.” “You’d soon get tired of that; I’d be like a music box that plays only one tune. No, it’s better Mr. Jeremy should keep it for the present.” In this way she put off Caro, and felt that she had done it rather cleverly. To her great joy Reed’s letter came one day when she went herself to the post-office. She could hardly wait to open it, and hurried back, not to the doctor’s, but to her old home, where, “If I have to cry nobody will see me,” she said to herself.