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"You're looking very well—and happy, Mrs. Blaisdell," smiled Mr. Smith as he greeted her.

"I am well, and I'm perfectly happy, Mr. Smith," she beamed. "How could I help it? You know about the new home, of course. Well, it's all ready, and I'm ordering the furnishings. Oh, you don't know what it means to me to be able at last to surround myself with all the beautiful things I've so longed for all my life!"

"I'm very glad, I'm sure." Mr. Smith said the words as if he meant them.

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"Yes, of course; and poor Maggie here, she says she's glad, too,—though

I don't see how she can be, when she never got a cent, do you, Mr.

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Smith? But, poor Maggie, she's got so used to being left out—"

"Hush, hush!" begged Miss Maggie.

"You'll find money isn't everything in this world, Hattie Blaisdell," growled Mr. Duff, who, to-day, for some unknown reason, had deserted the kitchen cookstove for the living-room base-burner. "And when I see what a little money does for some folks I'm glad I'm poor. I wouldn't be rich if I could. Furthermore, I'll thank you to keep your sympathy at home. It ain't needed nor wanted—here."

"Why, Father Duff," bridled Mrs. Hattie indignantly, "you know how poor

Maggie has had to—"

"Er—but tell us about the new home," interrupted Mr. Smith quickly, "and the fine new furnishings."

"Why, there isn't much to tell yet—about the furnishings, I mean. I haven't got them yet. But I can tell you what I'm GOING to have." Mrs. Hattie settled herself more comfortably, and began to look happy again. "As I was saying to Maggie, when you came in, I shall get almost everything new—for the rooms that show, I mean,—for, of course, my old things won't do at all. And I'm thinking of the pictures. I want oil paintings, of course, in gilt frames." She glanced a little disdainfully at the oak-framed prints on Miss Maggie's walls.

"Going in for old masters, maybe," suggested Mr. Duff, with a sarcasm that fell pointless at Mrs. Hattie's feet.