Part 3 (1/2)

”No; do not go yourself. Ring for her.”

Drusilla sat down again, rather aghast at the idea of asking any one else to do a service for her, who all her life had been at the beck and call of other people. One of the old ladies came and was asked to bring Mrs. Smith. The Director came quickly, showing that she had not been far away.

”Mrs. Smith,” Mr. Thornton said, ”we will come to-morrow afternoon to take Miss Doane with us. She has been left a legacy and will no longer be an inmate of the Doane home.”

Mrs. Smith's expression changed instantly.

”Why, I'm real glad. Drusilla, you know I will be the first to rejoice in your good fortune.”

Drusilla's face was a study for a moment as she remembered the many shrill orders and the thousand and one ways that the Director had employed to make her lonely life harder than was really necessary; but kindliness triumphed and the hard look left her eyes.

”I'm sure, Mis' Smith, you will be glad with me,” she said; and she thought in her kindly old heart, ”Perhaps she didn't mean to be mean; she was just too busy to think.”

The men left and Drusilla was alone with the Director, whose curiosity was nearly consuming her.

”What has happened, Drusilla? Has some one left you money?”

”Yes,” said Drusilla.

”Who?”

”A relation I didn't know.”

”Did he leave you much?”

Drusilla said quietly: ”A million dollars.”

Mrs. Smith nearly fell from her chair.

”What did you say?”

”A million dollars.”

”Are you sure?”

”That's what the lawyer, Mr. Thornton, said.”

Mrs. Smith was speechless.

”I can't believe my ears. There must be some mistake. I'll--I'll--go and talk it over with some one. Do you want to go to your room, or will you go out to the women, Drusilla?”

”I think I'll go to my room fer a while, if I may--that is, if you don't need me, Mis' Smith.”

Mrs. Smith shook her head. Need her, need a woman who had just been left a million dollars! No, indeed; not in the way that Drusilla meant.

Drusilla went slowly up to her room and sat down in the little rocker by the bed. She tried to think it all over; but it did not seem real.

She felt the letter in her pocket and, finding her second-best pair of gla.s.ses, moved her chair close to the window and read it through slowly. Then, holding the letter in her hands, she sat back in her chair and the tears welled slowly from her faded eyes, rolling down the wrinkled cheeks and falling, drop by drop, on to her dress unnoticed. She was not thinking of the money but of the kindly old man who had thought of her in his last hours, and planned for her happiness. She had never had any one plan for her happiness before, nor care for her for so many years that she had forgotten what care meant, and her heart seemed full to bursting. She said softly to herself, ”He must 'a' cared something fer me or he wouldn't 'a'

thought of it all. He _must_ 'a' cared.”