The opening of a door aroused Rose. Silence Blossom had come in from feeding her chickens, bringing with her a whiff of the crisp, outer air. “Well, Rose,” as she held out her hands to the heat of the fire, “are you a happy girl to-night?” “Indeed I am. I thought yesterday when I knew that the money was found, that I was happy as I could be; but I am still happier now. To think that no one can call me a pauper any more, or twit me with being a charity child!” Her voice choked, for every taunting reference to her poverty had stung deep, and with all the sensitiveness of a proud nature she had felt the bitterness of her dependent condition. “Just to think that I can pay for what I have, and have an education. Why, it seems too good to be true. If it were three millions I don’t believe I could feel any richer. Of course,” she hurried to add, “I know I must be very careful, but I wonder—do you think—that I could have a new dress, not made over, but one bought on purpose for me; and a pair of kid gloves—I don’t know that I could afford them, but I’ve wanted a pair so long.” “Yes.” Silence Blossom spoke quick and decisive. “You can have a pair of kid gloves and a new dress. It can be neat and pretty without being of expensive material.” Rose hesitated a moment. “I suppose a brown or a blue dress would do me the most service, but I’ve always wished that I could have a red dress.” “A red dress it shall be, then,” said Miss Silence. “And you can help me make it. I haven’t forgotten how a girl feels about her clothes, and as long as I have any say about it you are going to have things like other girls.” Rose drew a blissful breath; she could hardly believe it possible. In fact, it was a difficult matter for Rose to go to sleep that night, she was so overflowing with happiness; and numberless were the plans as to what she would do and be, as blissful as they were vague, that floated through her excited mind as she lay with her eyes wide open in the moonlight. “I wish Ben Pancost could know,” she whispered. And then for all her happiness she sighed a little quivering sigh, for since the day they parted in the little parlor of the Byfield hotel, not one glimpse had she seen or one word had she heard of Ben Pancost. He had neither come to Farmdale at the time he had appointed, nor in any of the weeks that followed, though she had watched for him with eyes that grew weary with watching, and sometimes were wet with the tears of disappointment.