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She's a Duff—a very different family."

"I don't care, she's just as good as a Blaisdell," cut in Mellicent; "and she seems like one of us, anyway."

"And she didn't get anything?" bemoaned Benny. "Say," he turned valiantly to Mr. Smith, "shouldn't you think he might have given Aunt Maggie a little of that money?"

"I should, indeed!" Mr. Smith spoke with peculiar emphasis.

"I guess he would if he'd known her!"

"I'm sure he would!" Once more the peculiar earnestness vibrated through Mr. Smith's voice.

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"But now he's dead, an' he can't. I guess if he could see Aunt Maggie he'd wish he hadn't died 'fore he could fix her up just as good as the rest."

"I'm VERY sure he would!" Mr. Smith was laughing now, but his voice was just as emphatic, and there was a sudden flame of color in his face.

"Your Cousin Stanley isn't dead, my dear,—that is, we are not sure he is dead," spoke up Benny's mother quickly. "He just has not been heard from for six months."

"But he must be dead, or he'd have come back," reasoned Miss Flora, with worried eyes; "and I, for my part, think we OUGHT to go into mourning, too."

"Of course he'd have come back," declared Mrs. Jane, "and kept the money himself. Don't you suppose he knew what he'd written in that letter, and don't you suppose he'd have saved those three hundred thousand dollars if he could? Well, I guess he would! The man is dead. That's certain enough."

"Well, anyhow, we're not going into mourning till we have to." Mrs.

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Harriet's lips snapped together with firm decision.

"Of course not. I'm sure I don't see any use in having the money if we've got to wear black and not go anywhere," pouted Bessie.

"Are we rich, then, really, ma?" demanded Benny.

"We certainly are, Benny."

"Richer 'n the Pennocks?"