THAT THOUSAND DOLLARS.

No wonder that burst of tears half terrified little Rhoda, and set her to pleading against the repetition of a fainting fit, which seemed to her like death. She could not understand that joy ever took that form. As the lady trembled all over, and uttered her sense of relief in broken fragments of thanksgiving, the girl accepted them confusedly as reproaches, and drooped under them with touching humility.

"And you have done this for me," cried Mrs. Holt, laying her hand on Rhoda's shoulder, while the tears rained down her face.

"Yes, I own up. Nobody can be more sorry, but I meant it for right."

"Sorry, my child? Sorry that you have made me the happiest woman on earth?"

"And are you? Are you, indeed? Then I haven't gone and done anything to make you worse off."

"Oh! little Rhoda, if you could but know——"

"That's it! Now you look like yourself, lady; and a great deal more so. I never saw any one get so young all at once. Only to think that an Ingy shawl could do it."

"It seems to me like a miracle!" Mrs. Holt exclaimed, pressing the money between her hands, and kissing it with fervor; for, in fact, it was life and breath to her. "But you must take a part of it, little one. I had no idea that it would bring so much."

"Well, perhaps it wouldn't, only I'm used to the trade now, and tucked an extra thousand on to what you said it was worth. 'Three thousand dollars,' says I, bold as brass; 'three thousand is the worth of this Ingy shawl; and think what a bargain it'll be for one thousand,' says I. If it was a whopper, I'm sure it's according to the trade—and what's the difference to her?"

"To her? Then you sold it to a lady?"

"A lady! Well, no; not exactly."

"Did it go to a dealer, then?"

"No; not to a dealer—the price was too heavy for them."

"But it will not be put into the market and sold again, I hope?" said Mrs. Holt, a little anxiously.

"No, I rather think not. She has got heaps of money, somehow, and will keep the shawl just because it cost so much. I told her all about it, how it was made, and how fast the colors were; but it wasn't of any use till I said, 'that Ingy shawl is worth three thousand dollars!' then her eyes begun to sparkle, and she was eager as a hen-hawk. It was the price that did it. If it had been an Injun blanket she would have bought it all the same. If I did tell a bit of a whopper about the extra thousand, that whopper did the work, anyhow."

"But it was not a whopper, Rhoda; you can hardly overestimate the value of a garment like that. It was the gift of a great man to my father, when I was a girl."

"You don't say so!" exclaimed Rhoda, opening her eyes wide. "If I'd known all about that, four thousand wouldn't have been too much."

"But you have got double the price I expected. In fact, I feel almost like a rich woman again. Come, now, let me pay my debts, and give you a share."

"Pay debts! Oh, Mrs. Holt! don't now."

"But I must put fifty dollars into the bank for you, and here is fifty more as your commission."

"My—my what?" said Rhoda, drawing back and looking ready to cry.

"Pay for your trouble—that is clearly your due."

"No, it ain't. I won't touch it—nary a cent. Oh, Mrs. Holt! I wouldn't a believed it of you!"

Rhoda was vexed, and tears leaped into her eyes. She picked up her basket of matches and made for the door.

"But, Rhoda," pleaded the lady.

"Nary a cent—I won't touch a red. It's of no use asking me, for I won't! There now!"

"Rhoda!"

The girl turned; there was something sweet and pleading in the tone of that voice, which subdued her anger in a moment.

"Did you speak to me?" said the little creature, meekly.

"Yes, Rhoda. I wanted to say that you are the only friend I have in the world."

"What, I? I? Oh, Mrs. Holt!"

Rhoda set her basket on the floor, and in a moment was leaning against the arm of Mrs. Holt's chair, smiling through her tears like an April morning.

"You won't say anything more about that?" she whispered.

"No, not if it troubles you; but you and I will put back the fifty dollars for Luke, now that we are so rich. It will be drawing interest, you know, and always be ready for us if we want it."

"But will you take it if—if—"

"If I am very much in need, of course I will ask for it."

"Then I'll put it back."

The child held out her little hand, and took the fifty-dollar note offered to her, half ashamed, as if she had been stealing it.

"I hope the angels ain't looking at us all the time," she said, dejectedly, folding the note.

"And why, little one?"

"Because mother would think me mean."

"She would think you a grateful, good little girl, and love you dearly as I do."

"I'm afraid not."

Rhoda shook her head as she expressed herself thus despondingly; but still hung about Mrs. Holt's chair as if she were waiting for something.

"Oh! you have not told me yet who purchased the shawl?"

"No, not exactly; that is, please don't ask me—I promised not to tell."

"Then I will not ask you. Only, was it any one I know?"

"_You_ know _her_, Mrs. Holt? Not a bit of it. She may set up for a lady with her fine clothes and her rolls of money; but you _are_ a lady."

Mrs. Holt glanced down at her worn dress, and smiled a little sadly.

"Mrs. Holt, may I ask something?"

"Anything, child."

"Are you going far away?"

"Yes, dear!"

"And forever?"

"I—I cannot tell; that rests with God!"

"Mrs. Holt?"

"Well, child."

"Will you—wont you——"

"What is it, Rhoda? Don't look so distressed, I will do anything for you. What is it?"

"Will—will you kiss me before you go?"

"Will I? God bless you, child! God forever bless you!"

Mrs. Holt took that little, round face between both her hands, and kissed it upon the forehead and the trembling mouth over and over again.

"That is like my mother—that is like my mother!" cried out the child, with a great outburst of sorrowful tenderness.

Mrs. Holt kissed the little creature again, folding her close, and wiping the tears from her eyes with infinite tenderness.

"I'll go home, now," said the child, at last. "Good-bye. I'll go right home. It's no use trying to sell matches to-day—I couldn't do it."

Mrs. Holt followed the child to the door of her room, and looked after her with tears in her eyes. Rhoda went down stairs without turning back; but when the door closed, she sat down on the bottom step and began to sob. Thus Mrs. Wheeler found her some moments after.

"Dear me! what on earth! Is this you, Rhoda Weeks, crying like a baby? Well, I never!"

Rhoda started up, wiped her eyes with one hand, holding up her basket with the other.

"Did you say out of matches? Six papers in a bunch and splendid. Haven't sold enough to-day to buy salt."

Mrs. Wheeler took two bundles of the matches. Rhoda gave change with her usual sharpness, and went away rather comforted by this little dash of trade.