“Ain’t yah going to send an answer?” put in the little operator aggrievedly, hugging the thin muslin sleeves of her little soiled shirt-waist to keep from shivering. “He says to wire him immediately. He says it’s important. I guess you didn’t take notice to the message.” The soldier tried to smooth out the crumpled paper with his numb fingers; and Mary Amber, seeing that he was feeling very miserable, took it from him, and capably put it before him. “Am sending you a thousand. Wire me your post-office address immediately. Good news. Important. “(Signed) “ARTHUR J. WATKINS.” “I guess I can’t answer that now,” said the soldier, trying his best to keep his teeth from chattering. “I don’t just know--” “Here, I’ll write it for you,” said Mary with sudden understanding. “You better have it sent in Aunt Rill’s care; and then you can have it forwarded anywhere, you know. I’ll write it for you;” and she took a silver pencil from the pocket of her coat, and wrote the telegram rapidly on a corner she tore from the first message, handing it out for his inspection and then passing it on to the operator, who gathered it in capably. “Send this c’lect too, I s’pose,” she called after the car as it departed. “Yes, all right, anything,” answered Lyman Gage, wearily sinking back in the seat. “It doesn’t matter, anyway.” “You are sick!” said Mary Amber anxiously; “and we are going to get right home. Miss Marilla will be wild.” The soldier sat up holding his precious check. “I’ll have to ask you to let me out,” he said, trying to be dignified under the heavy stupor of weariness that was creeping over him. “I’ve got to get to a bank.” “Oh, must you, to-day? Couldn’t we wait till to-morrow or till you feel better?” asked Mary anxiously. “No, I must go now,” he insisted doggedly. “Well, there’s a bank on the next corner,” she said; “and it must be about closing-time.” She shoved her sleeve back, and glanced at her watch. “Just five minutes of three. We’ll stop, but you’ll promise to hurry, won’t you? I want to get you home. I’m worried about you.” Lyman Gage cast her another of those wondering looks like a child unused to kindness suddenly being petted. It made her feel as if she wanted to cry. All the mother in her came to her eyes. She drew up in front of the bank, and got out after him. “I’ll go in with you,” she said. “They know me over here, and it may save you trouble.” “You’re very kind,” he said almost curtly. “I dislike to make you so much trouble----” Perhaps it was owing to Mary’s presence that the transaction went through without question, and in a few minutes more they were back in the car again, Mary tucking up her big patient fussily.