were really watching at the door. I wanted to see them if they were
there, and yet was terrified to peep out for fear they were. Even now it
seems more than a mere figure of speech. Often I dream of having a
hand-to-hand struggle with it, but I always conquer it in the end--in my
dreams," she added, with a gay little laugh. "And that is a good omen."

That cheery laugh was the key-note of Judith's character, Miss Barbara
thought. All her life she had taken the pinch of poverty bravely for the
sake of her invalid mother and the three younger sisters whom she was
now helping through school. Gradually she had shouldered the heavy
responsibilities laid upon her, until she had settled down to a routine
of duty, almost hopeless in its monotony. Miss Barbara noted with keen
eyes that a careworn look had become the habitual expression of the
sweet girlish face, and she sat wishing with all her heart that she were
something herself besides a poorly paid little music teacher with the
wolf lurking at her own door. As she wound the basting threads on a
spool she planned the rose-coloured future Judith should have if it were
only in her power to give it.

Judith must have felt the unspoken sympathy, for presently she burst
forth: "If I could only go away, just once, and have a real good time,
like other girls, just once, while I am young enough to enjoy it, I
wouldn't ask anything more. I've never been ten miles outside of
Westbrooke, and I'm sure no one ever longed to travel more than I. I
never have any company of my own age. Our old set is all gone, and my
friends are either elderly people or the school-children who come to see
the girls. And they all are so absorbed in the trivial village
happenings and neighbourhood gossip.

"What I want is to meet people out in the world who really do
things,--men like Mr. Avery, for instance; Daisy is always entertaining
distinguished strangers, artists and authors and musicians. Friendship
with such cultured, interesting people would broaden the horizon of my
whole life. I have a feeling that if I could once get away, it would
somehow break the ice, and things would be different ever after." Then
she added, with a tinge of bitterness that rarely crept into her voice,
"I might as well plan to go to the moon. The round-trip ticket alone,
without the sleeping-car berth, would be at least forty dollars,
wouldn't it?"

Miss Barbara nodded. "Yes, fully that. It costs me almost that much to
g