The next morning the girl was strangely silent and went about her work without the usual cheery whistle--for Clara would whistle; it was her only musical accomplishment. But toward noon, after arousing from a prolonged spell of silent staring into the fire, during which her mother tried in vain to draw her into conversation, she suddenly became her own bright self again, and went about getting dinner in her usual manner. Then when the dishes were washed, she appeared in her street dress and hat. "Land sakes alive, child, you aint going out to-day, be you?" said Mrs. Wilson, her hands on her hips, in her usual attitude of amazement or wrath. "Yes mother, I've got a little business down-town that I can't put off. I won't be gone long. Is there anything that I can do for you?" "But look how it's snowing; you'll be wet through and catch your death sure. I wish to goodness you'd have more sense and try to take some care of yourself." "Not the first time I've been wet. The walk will do me good." And soon the determined young lady was pushing her way through the snow and wind toward the business part of the city. The boy in the printing office had gone out on an errand and George and Dick were both at the composing case, setting up a local politician's speech, which was to be issued in the form of a circular, when Clara walked in, stamping her feet and shaking the snow from her umbrella and skirt. Udell started forward. "Great shade of the immortal Benjamin F!" he shouted. "What in the name of all that's decent are you doing here?" And he placed a chair near the stove with one hand as he captured the umbrella with the other. "I'm going to get warm just now," Clara replied, with an odd little laugh, and Dick noticed that the wind, or cold, or something, had made her face very red. "Come here and sit down," she commanded. "I want to talk business to you. Don't stand there as though you had never seen me before." "Well, it has been ages since I saw you," he declared, seating himself on the edge of the waste-box. "Yes, all of twenty-four hours. I passed you yesterday and you looked me right in the face, and never even said 'Howdy.' If you were anyone else, George Udell, I'd make you wait awhile before you got another chance to do me that way." George drummed on the edge of the box and whistled softly. Then looking anxiously toward Dick, said: "How are you getting along with that stuff, old man?" "Almost through," answered Dick, with a never-to-be-forgotten wink. "But I believe I'll run off those dodgers on the big press, and let you finish the politics." "All right, I reckon that'll be better," answered Udell; and soon the whir of the motor, and the stamp of the press filled the room. "We are awfully busy now," said Udell, turning to Clara again. "I ought to be at work this minute." "Why haven't you been to see me, George?" persisted the girl, a strange light coming into her eyes. "There are so many things I want to talk to you about."