David's eyes nearly popped from his head. It was true that his mother seemed feeble and that he had been making inquiries about a maid for her. But by such an offer as this he was dumbfounded. Had Katy lost her mind? No Gaumer had ever worked out. Her relatives were comfortably fixed; she would doubtless have some money of her own when she came of age. Where was Alvin Koehler, the despicable, to whom Katy had seemed attached? Had he heard her aright? He could only look at her and gasp out a foolish, "_You!_" "I can work," said Katy, with a scarlet face. "I did all the work when my grandmother was sick for so long." "Are you not going to school?" David grew more and more astonished as he became convinced that Katy was in earnest. "I am not going to school," said Katy. "If I cannot get a place to work at your house, I will get a place somewhere else, that is all." "Are you in any trouble, Katy?" asked David. "Can I do anything for you?" Katy's head lifted. David Hartman was pitying her, asking to be allowed to help her. It was intolerable. She realized now how tall he was, how deep his gray eyes, how fair his white skin; she remembered her gingham apron, her debt, her disappointed hopes, every embarrassment and pain that had befallen her. "There is nothing wrong, of course," said she coldly as she turned away. "That is all I wanted of you." "Oh, but wait!" David went to her side and kept pace with her. He did not proceed with his speech at once. The old vision dazzled him, Katy in a scarlet dress, Katy laughing, Katy racing down the pike. It was abominable for her to become a servant--upon this subject, also, David's opinions had advanced. What in the world were her relatives about? But if she must live out, it would be better for her to work for his mother than to work at the hotel--the only other establishment in Millerstown which required the services of a maid. He would then have her in his house; the notion set David's cheeks suddenly to burning, his heart to throbbing. He wondered what room his mother would give her, where she would sit at the table, what she would do in the evenings when her time was her own. "Do you want to engage me?" asked Katy, sharply; "or don't you want to engage me?" "My mother will be only too glad to have you," said David, eagerly. "I will come when your school opens," promised Katy, as she turned the corner. "If I get a dollar and a half a week,"--the standard of wages in Millerstown was not high,--"it will take me thirty-three and a third weeks to save fifty dollars," reckoned Katy. "That will take from September till June. After that I do not think of anything. Perhaps by that time I will die. Then I do not care if they find out that I haven't my two hundred dollars any more."