there is something in her face that troubles me. She looks as if she had
lost hope and courage, and were simply drifting. I've tried to win her
confidence, but she will not talk with me about herself. I thought--at
least, I hoped--that you might be able to find out what is the trouble."

"Why I, rather than any other girl?"

"I don't know why I feel so sure that you might succeed, but I do feel
so, Olga. She may be in great trouble. If you could find out what it is,
I might be able to help her. Will you try, Olga?"

The girl shook her head. "I can't promise, Miss Laura. I'll think about
it," was all she would concede.

"She works in Silverstein's," Laura added, "and I think she has no
relatives in the city."

The talk drifted then to other matters, and when Olga glanced at the
clock, Miss Laura touched a bell, and in a few minutes a maid brought up
a cup of hot clam bouillon. "You must take it, Olga, before you go out
again in this storm," Laura said, and reluctantly the girl obeyed.

When she went away, Laura went to the door with her. The car stood
there, and before she fairly realised that it was waiting for her Olga
was inside, and the chauffeur was tucking the fur rug around her. As,
leaning back against the cushions, shielded from wet and cold, she was
borne swiftly through the storm, something hard and cold and bitter in
the girl's heart was suddenly swept away in a strong tide of feeling
quite new to her, and strangely mingled of sweet and bitter. It was
Miss Laura she was thinking of--Miss Laura who had furnished the
beautiful Camp Fire room for the girls and made them all so warmly
welcome there--who so plainly carried them all in her heart and made
their joys and sorrows, their cares and troubles, her own--as she was
making Lizette Stone's now. How good she had been to Elizabeth, how
patient and gentle with that provoking Sadie, and with careless slangy
Lena Barton and Eva! And to her--Olga thought of the dry stockings and
slippers, the hot broth, and now--the car ordered out on such a night
just for her. The girl's throat swelled, her eyes burned, and the last
vestige of bitterness was washed out of her heart in a rain of hot
tears.

"If she can do so much for all of us I _can't_ be mean enough to shirk
any longer. I'll see Lizette to-morrow," she vowed, as the car stopped at
her door. She stood for a moment on the steps looking after it before
she went in. It had been only "common humanity" to send