The question of investment was one that occupied her greatly.
For a day or two she walked about apparently in a dreamy state, but

really absorbed in speculation and calculation. She did not wish
to act hastily, to do anything she might afterward regret. But it

was during the still hours of the night when she lay awake
revolving plans in her mind that she seemed to see her way clearly

toward a proper and judicious use of the money.
A dollar or two should be added to the price usually paid for

Janie's shoes, which would insure their lasting an appreciable time
longer than they usually did. She would buy so and so many yards

of percale for new shirt waists for the boys and Janie and Mag.
She had intended to make the old ones do by skilful patching. Mag

should have another gown. She had seen some beautiful patterns,
veritable bargains in the shop windows. And still there would be

left enough for new stockings--two pairs apiece--and what darning
that would save for a while! She would get caps for the boys and

sailor-hats for the girls. The vision of her little brood
looking fresh and dainty and new for once in their lives

excited her and made her restless and wakeful with anticipation.
The neighbors sometimes talked of certain "better days" that

little Mrs. Sommers had known before she had ever thought of being
Mrs. Sommers. She herself indulged in no such morbid

retrospection. She had no time--no second of time to devote to the
past. The needs of the present absorbed her every faculty. A

vision of the future like some dim, gaunt monster sometimes
appalled her, but luckily to-morrow never comes.

Mrs. Sommers was one who knew the value of bargains; who could
stand for hours making her way inch by inch toward the desired

object that was selling below cost. She could elbow her way if
need be; she had learned to clutch a piece of goods and hold it and

stick to it with persistence and determination till her turn came
to be served, no matter when it came.

But that day she was a little faint and tired. She had
swallowed a light luncheon--no! when she came to think of it,

between getting the children fed and the place righted, and
preparing herself for the shopping bout, she had actually forgotten

to eat any luncheon at all!
She sat herself upon a revolving stool before a counter that

was comparatively deserted, trying to gather strength and courage
to charge through an eager multitude that was besieging

breastworks of shirting and figured lawn. An all-gone limp feeling had
come over her and she rested her hand aimlessly upon the counter.

She wore no gloves. By degrees she grew aware that her hand had
encountered something very soothing, very pleasant to touch. She

looked down to see that her hand lay upon a pile of silk stockings.
A placard near by announced that they had been reduced in price

from two dollars and fifty cents to one dollar and ninety-eight
cents; and a young girl who stood behind the counter asked her if

she wished to examine their line of silk hosiery. She smiled,
just as if she had been asked to inspect a tiara of diamonds

with the ultimate view of purchasing it. But she went on
feeling the soft, sheeny luxurious things--with both hands now,

holding them up to see them glisten, and to feel them glide
serpent-like through her fingers.

Two hectic blotches came suddenly into her pale cheeks. She
looked up at the girl.

"Do you think there are any eights-and-a-half among these?"
There were any number of eights-and-a-half. In fact, there

were more of that size than any other. Here was a light-blue pair;
there were some lavender, some all black and various shades of tan

and gray. Mrs. Sommers selected a black pair and looked at them
very long and closely. She pretended to be examining their

texture, which the clerk assured her was excellent.
"A dollar and ninety-eight cents," she mused aloud. "Well,

I'll take this pair." She handed the girl a five-dollar bill and
waited for her change and for her parcel. What a very small parcel

it was! It seemed lost in the depths of her shabby old shopping-bag.
Mrs. Sommers after that did not move in the direction of the

bargain counter. She took the elevator, which carried her to an
upper floor into the region of the ladies' waiting-rooms. Here, in

a retired corner, she exchanged her cotton stockings for the new
silk ones which she had just bought. She was not going through any

acute mental process or reasoning with herself, nor was she
striving to explain to her satisfaction the motive of her action.

She was not thinking at all. She seemed for the time to be taking
a rest from that laborious and fatiguing function and to have

abandoned herself to some mechanicalimpulse that directed her
actions and freed her of responsibility.

How good was the touch of the raw silk to her flesh! She felt
like lying back in the cushioned chair and reveling for a while in

the luxury of it. She did for a little while. Then she replaced
her shoes, rolled the cotton stockings together and thrust them

into her bag. After doing this she crossed straight over to the
shoe department and took her seat to be fitted.

She was fastidious. The clerk could not make her out; he
could not reconcile her shoes with her stockings, and she was not

too easily pleased. She held back her skirts and turned her feet
one way and her head another way as she glanced down at the

polished, pointed-tipped boots. Her foot and ankle looked very
pretty. She could not realize that they belonged to her and were

a part of herself. She wanted an excellent and stylish fit, she
told the young fellow who served her, and she did not mind the

difference of a dollar or two more in the price so long as she got
what she desired.

It was a long time since Mrs. Sommers had been fitted with
gloves. On rare occasions when she had bought a pair they were

always "bargains," so cheap that it would have been preposterous
and unreasonable to have expected them to be fitted to the hand.

Now she rested her elbow on the cushion of the glove counter,
and a pretty, pleasant young creature, delicate and deft of touch,

drew a long-wristed "kid" over Mrs. Sommers's hand. She smoothed
it down over the wrist and buttoned it neatly, and both lost

themselves for a second or two in admiring contemplation of the
little symmetrical gloved hand. But there were other places where

money might be spent.
There were books and magazines piled up in the window of a

stall a few paces down the street. Mrs. Sommers bought two
high-priced magazines such as she had been accustomed to read in the

days when she had been accustomed to other pleasant things. She
carried them without wrapping. As well as she could she lifted her

skirts at the crossings. Her stockings and boots and well fitting
gloves had worked marvels in her bearing--had given her a feeling

of assurance, a sense of belonging to the well-dressed multitude.
She was very hungry. Another time she would have stilled the

cravings for food until reaching her own home, where she would have
brewed herself a cup of tea and taken a snack of anything that was

available. But the impulse that was guiding her would not suffer her
to entertain any such thought.

There was a restaurant at the corner. She had never entered
its doors; from the outside she had sometimes caught glimpses of

spotless damask and shining crystal, and soft-stepping waiters
serving people of fashion.

When she entered her appearance created no surprise, no
consternation, as she had half feared it might. She seated herself

at a small table alone, and an attentivewaiter at once approached
to take her order. She did not want a profusion; she craved a nice

and tasty bite--a half dozen blue-points, a plump chop with cress,
a something sweet--a creme-frappee, for instance; a glass of Rhine

wine, and after all a small cup of black coffee.
While waiting to be served she removed her gloves very