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find out where she had been hunting for a job and whether she had succeeded in getting one yet, but Dale only lingered by the door a minute and evaded her questions very cleverly.
    "I must hurry," she said, "I have things to do this morning. And, Mrs. Beck, that stove still smokes. Did you do anything about it yet?"
    "Well, no," said Mrs. Beck, "I hadta go out last night, but I'll see to it right away this morning."
    But Dale had got only halfway up the stairs before she heard the telephone ring in Mrs. Beck's part of the house, and just a moment later came Mrs. Beck's voice calling:
    "Miss Hathaway, oh, Miss Hathaway! Somebody wants ya on the phone! I think he's in a hurry!"
    Breathless, Dale turned and sped downstairs. What could that mean? Who could possibly be calling her? There wasn't anyone in the city who would be likely to call her, and no one in her old home that knew where she was! It was very strange. It was almost as if God Himself was calling her in answer to her queer little prayer of the night before. Her hand trembled as she took up the receiver, and her voice was shaky as she answered: "Yes?"
    The telephone was in the middle room. Mrs. Beck was lingering close to the kitchen door, her ear to the crack, listening, and "gramma" was in the front room with her ear to the crack, and one eye also. They had taken the precaution to open the door half an inch before Dale got down there, and they were pretty well versed in translating the rumble of the phone into real words when their roomers were called to the telephone.
    "This is John Ward, teller in the First National Bank," said the voice on the wire.
    "Yes, Mr. Ward?" said Dale, and guarded the sudden enthusiasm in her voice so that it sounded almost matter-of-fact.
    "Well, if you aren't satisfied yet I think I have heard of something you might like. Are you going to be down this way this morning?"
    "Yes, Mr. Ward, I am."
    "Could you make it about eleven?"
    "Yes, Mr. Ward, I'll be there. It's very kind of you to let me know."
    "That's all right, Miss Hathaway. I hope it proves to be what you want."
    The soft click announced the end of the conversation, and the two listeners turned away disappointed.
    Mrs. Beck was on hand in the hall as Dale hurried away.
    "Thank you, Mrs. Beck," she said as she fairly flew up the stairs.
    "Oh, that's all right," said Mrs. Beck raising her voice to suit the tempo of Dale's footsteps. "I hope it wasn't any unpleasant message?" she added hopefully.
    "Oh, no, just a matter of business," said Dale, and closed her door on the disappointed voice.
    Five minutes later Dale hurried downstairs and out the door, and both Beck ladies hurried to the front room windows and took account of her apparel.
    "She's got on another dress and hat," said Mrs. Beck. "It isn't the one she wore when she came here."
    "Oh, yes, it is," said the old grandmother. "You can't fool me. I don't suppose she's got more than one hat anyway. She didn't show any hat boxes or any signs of another hat when she come. I was watching behind the curtain and I know."
    "Well, anyhow, she's all spruced up. She looks ta me as if she's going out fer a new job. I hope she gets it. She's a right nice looker. I shouldn't liketa havta turn her away, not as hard as jobs is ta find taday."
    "Well, you can't afford to keep folks that don't pay, Molly."
    "No, I know I can't," sighed the woman. "But she is right nice lookin'. Seems like she was what they call sophisticated, an' that allus gives tone to a house. It brings a good class of roomers."
    "Yes," said the old lady in a tone that could whine as easily as not on the very slightest provocation.
    Dale walked briskly into the sunshine of the morning and recalled the tone of the teller's voice as he spoke to her. He hadn't said much, but somehow it cheered her. And a sudden thought came to her. Was it possible that God had done this? Was He trying to show her that He really cared? Oh, if this should turn out to be something good she would