"There might be," Rebecca said. She thought to herself that it was very probable; that first wife had brought Robert Gray beauty and love; it only needed that she should bring him money to make it all perfect. In her bleak mind a window of imagination suddenly opened, and she had a vision of what wealth would mean to her husband, coming as a gift from those dead hands. She set her lips, and said: "Better find out about it, Luther. Write to the man and say that a person of that name before her marriage, died here in Old Chester, leaving a child--and don't keep your hands in your pockets; it's bad manners." "Do you really think it is worth while, ma'am?" Luther said, incredulously. "Of course it is," said Alice. "Suppose it should be some inheritance? Such things do happen." "In story-books," Lute said. "Well, then I'd like to be in a story-book," Alice said, sighing. "Just think, Lute, we might pay for the press and pay off the mortgage!" "Golly!" said Lute. Then they fell to making all sorts of plans, gayly, each tripping the other up with the prosaic reminder of improbability. "Or, if it _should_ be anything," Luther said, "it won't be more than $100." "Well, that's something; it will meet two monthly payments on the press." "It will pay for a diamond-ring for you," Lute said. "Nonsense! We'll buy father a horse." "And who will buy the oats?" Rebecca said. "I could give you a big oleander, Mrs. Gray," Alice told her, smiling. "You could put the money in the bank, like a sensible girl," Rebecca said, severely. "Don't speak of this outside, either of you. Mr. Gray wouldn't wish his wife's name talked about." "And don't let's write anything about it to him," Alice said; "let's have it a surprise!--if there is anything in it; only, of course, there isn't anything," she ended, sighing. "But you might write to the man, Lute." "Of course there isn't anything," Lute agreed, sensibly. "I'll write if you want me to; but I wouldn't build on it, Ally," he said, as he got up to go. And when he paused a minute in the darkness on the porch, he added, softly, "If you get rich, maybe you won't want a poor printer?" And she laughed, and said, "Maybe I won't!" Then he kissed her just under her left ear, and said, "Money isn't everything, Ally." III