"And he never knows enough to have narcissus or daffodils, or any of those stylish flowers!" excitedly broke in Cathy, with dilated eyes. "And don't you charge _quite_ five dollars apiece for rose-buds either!" "And I will cut _lots_ of leaves with them; and funeral people shall _not_ have those hideous 'gates ajar' from my establishment!" But at this both girls burst into a merry laugh, and seriously set about discussing the ways and means. Cathy decided to find out the cost of such an undertaking, and the business outlook of the project before consulting Fred. Nan remembered that her father knew a man somehow connected with a green-house in another city. Cathy mentioned a certain corner of their grounds where she could build hers. Nan suggested that she go down to Johnson's and see what books there were on the subject; and so on, until at last they parted with a happy sense of lively stir and aim. But these four fortunes were not made in a day, and the time seemed long before much but discouragement was achieved. Just here is where the masculine pertinacity is valuable. Business results are slow, and the feminine mind chafes at delay, and wants to see the net gain immediately. Bert found stenography very tedious, if not quite a bore; and there came many days when she would have been willing to slip back into social inertness, and keep to her slippers and book rather than present herself in the dingy office. Although, when once she had conquered, it wasn't so bad, for there _was_ a bright rug on the floor, and a small feather-duster, hung up by a scarlet ribbon, did effective service. Her sense of the humorous also came to her aid, for the expression of relieved suspense she caught on her father's face as she appeared regularly morning after morning amused her, and the one of loving friendliness that began to settle there more than repaid her. [Illustration: "I PLAY LOUD WALTZES ON THE PIANO, UNTIL THE SILENCE OF THESE SEPULCHRAL ROOMS IS PUT TO FLIGHT." (SEE NEXT PAGE.)] On Saturday, at the end of her first week, she found a little pile of silver by her plate. She regarded it curiously for a moment, then inquired doubtfully: "Is this the exact sum you would have paid to a Mr. Snipkins, had such a person been hired in my place, and done the work I have done?" "Exactly, Bertha; no more, no less," her father replied, smiling. "_Earned_," she murmured, slowly dropping the pieces one by one into her purse. "What a queer feeling! Money for an equivalent given--I don't believe I shall ever spend it!" Mr. Mitchell looked particularly pleased, as he said: "Ah, you begin to appreciate what a dollar stands for."