"George is one of the best husbands that ever a girl had," said Flora, in a tender, shamed voice; "but Francis would make just as good a one." Lois made no reply. She almost turned her back toward Flora as she sewed. "I guess you'll change your mind some time about getting married," Flora said. "No, I never will," returned Lois. "Well, I suppose if you don't, you'll have money enough to take care of yourself with some time, as far as that goes," said Flora. Her voice had a sarcastic ring. "I shall never have one cent of that Maxwell money," said Lois, with sudden fire. "I'll tell you that much, once for all!" Her eyes fairly gleamed in her delicate, burning face. "Why, you scare me! What is the matter?" cried Flora. Lois took a stitch. "Nothing," said she. "You'd ought to have the money, of course," said Flora, in a bewildered way. "Who else would have it?" "I don't know," said Lois. "You are the one that ought to have it." Flora laughed. "Land, I don't want it!" said she. "George earns plenty for us to live on. She's your own aunt, and of course she'll have to leave it to you, if she does act so miserly with it now. There, I know she's your aunt, Lois, and I don't suppose I ought to speak so, but I can't help it. After all, it don't make much difference, or it needn't, whether you have it or not. I've begun to think money is the very least part of anything in this world, and I want you to be looking out for something else, too, Lois." "I can't look out for money, or something else, either. You don't know," said Lois, in a pitiful voice. There came a flash, and then a great crash of thunder. The tempest was about to break. Flora started up abruptly. "I must run," she shouted through a sudden gust of wind. "Good-by." Flora sped out of the yard. Her blue dress, lashing around her feet, changed color in the ghastly light of the storm. Some flying leaves struck her in the face. At the gate a cloud of dust from the road nearly blinded her. She realized in a bewildered fashion that there were three women on the other side struggling frantically with the latch. "Does Mis' Jane Field live here?" inquired one of them, breathlessly. "No," replied Flora; "that isn't her name." "She don't?" "No," gasped Flora, her head lowered before the wind. "Well, I want to know, ain't this the old Maxwell place?" "Yes," said Flora. Some great drops of rain began to fall; there was another flash. The woman struggled mightily, and prevailed over the gate-latch. She pushed it open. "Well, I don't care," said she, "I'm comin' in, whether or no. I dunno but my bonnet-strings will spot, an' I ain't goin' to have my best clothes soaked. It's mighty funny nobody knows where Mis' Field lives; but this is the old Maxwell house, where she wrote Mandy she lived, an' I'm goin' in."