One episode in the tiny Elizabeth’s life was unusual, and long years afterward Martie found a place for it in her own slowly-forming theories.  At the time the three young persons debated it amusedly and carelessly before it came to be just an accepted, if incomprehensible, fact.

Dr. Ben, whose modest bill for attendance upon Sally was promptly paid, had sent the baby a check for seventy-five dollars.  The card with this check was merely pencilled:  “For Miss Elizabeth’s first quarter, from Uncle Ben.”  At first Sally and Martie and Joe were puzzled to understand it.

Then suddenly Sally remembered her talk with the doctor a year ago.  This was the “mother’s pay” he had spoken about then.

“It does seem funny that we were only girls then, and that to speak of such things really made me almost die of embarrassment,” smiled Sally, “and now, here we are, and we know all about it!  But now, the question is, what to do?”

Sally and Joe were at first for a polite refusal of the money.  It was so “queer,” they said.  It seemed too “odd.”  It was not as if Pa had decided to do it, or as if Dr. Ben really was the child’s uncle.  It was better not to chance possible complications—­

Presently Joe dropped out of this debate.  He said simply that it was a deuce of a lot of money, and that there were lots of things that the baby needed, but he didn’t care either way.  Sally then said that it was settled, for if he didn’t care the check should go back.

But here Martie found herself with an opinion.  She said suddenly that she thought Sally would be foolish to refuse.  It was Dr. Ben’s money.  If he endowed a library, or put a conservatory into the Monroe Park, Sally would enjoy them to the full.  Why shouldn’t he do this?  His money and the way he spent it were his own affair.

“He’s working out an experiment, Sally.  I don’t see why you shouldn’t let him.  You may never have another baby, but if you do, why six hundred a year is just that much better than three!”

There were several days of debate.  It was inevitable that the check lying on Sally’s cheap little three-drawer bureau should suggest things it would purchase.  Martie summarily took it to the Bank one day and brought home crackling bills in exchange.  One of the first things that was purchased was the perambulator in which ’Lizabeth was proudly wheeled to call upon her benefactor.

Then the dreadful days began to go by again, and still there was no letter from Wallace.  June came in with enervating, dry heat, and Martie wilted under it.  There was no longer any doubt about her condition.  The hour was coming closer when Sally must know, when all Monroe must know just how mad a venture her marriage had been.

One day she had a letter from Mabel, who begged her to come back to the city.  Jesse was sure he could get her an occasional engagement; it was better than fretting herself to death there in that “jay” town.