“Perhaps so,” said Vondergrift, smiling, “but maybe you will find that I am wiser than you. That girl’s voice is phenomenal. She will make a fortune for me! And she’s just green enough, my boy, to think that I’m an angel.” “You mean that she’ll appreciate your handsome offer so highly that the manager of the ‘Olio’ will not be able to buy her over! Well, if she does she’ll be the first singer to do it,” was the answer, “and after she sings for you one night she’ll have plenty of offers.” “That’s exactly why I made my price so high,” said Vondergrift again; “I have anticipated these offers and bagged my prima donna!” “You may be right,” said the other, slowly, “and, anyway, it’s your money, not mine. She certainly can sing, and that is what we are after. Why, Carlotta is a mere croaker compared with our rustic.” Marion sped home like the wind to carry the good news to Dollie, and for a time the two girls were almost radiantly happy. In the first mail the next morning Marion received a letter. It was from her sister Samantha, the first she had had from her. “Father must be relenting,” she said, with a bitter smile, “or else Samantha has at last found courage to defy his orders.” She glanced over the letter and then almost screamed in surprise. “Oh, Dollie! Here is news, indeed! I know now why Silas wanted to marry you so badly. He’s been buying chickens and pigs, and is going to fatten them for market, and of course he is desperately in need of a household drudge, and at last he has married poor, homely, Sallie Green! I guess he despaired of ever getting a prettier woman!” “Poor Sallie!” cried Dollie, her eyes filling with tears. “I don’t envy her a lifetime in Silas Johnson’s kitchen!” “And to think that he tried to make you feel that he was doing you a favor by asking you to marry him,” sneered Marion, “when all he wanted was a drudge for his kitchen!” “I hope he will be good to her,” said Dollie, very earnestly. “I wonder what father will do about that mortgage now,” was Marion’s only answer. “He can’t trade you off to settle it now, so it begins to look as if he’d have to raise the money.” “Oh, there’s no hope for him now,” said Dollie, sighing. “They’ll be turned out surely, and have to live with Samantha.” “But Samantha’s husband won’t have them,” was Marion’s prompt answer, “which means that they’ll be forced to go to the Poor Farm.” The two girls stared at each other with expressions of horror. It was a terrible thought—they could hardly endure it. Bert Jackson came in and found them both weeping bitterly. He had brought Marion the ten dollars which she loaned him on the night of his escape from the Poor Farm, and the money looked like a fortune to the poor girls in their destitute condition. When Marion told him of the letter which she had written to Matt Jenkins poor Bert was so delighted that he nearly went into hysterics.