e. "You're not sick, are you?"

"No, indeed!" answered Anne.

"Oh! you look sorter like I feel when I've a pain in my stomach," said
Peggy, running off in reply to a playmate's call.

Anne looked after her longingly. Peggy was a bright, merry, friendly
child with whom she would have liked to play, but for being sure Cousin
Dorcas would object. Peggy was certainly one of the 'common herd'--her
clothes ragged or patched and her person rather dingy.

Anne was lonely.

"It's worse than being all by myself," she reflected soberly, "to see
the other children's good times and be out of them all."

She consoled herself as best she could with Honey-Sweet, disagreeing
stoutly with Miss Dorcas who thought that she was too large a girl to
play with dolls.

"Honey-Sweet isn't just a doll--not like those in shops," Anne
explained. "Dear Mrs. Patterson made her. And she's been everywhere with
me. And, Cousin Dorcas, she really is useful. I study all my lessons
with her. That's how I learn them so good--making believe I'm teaching
them to Honey-Sweet. And she helps me keep still. You know you do like
me to be quiet, Cousin Dorcas."

"Yes. I don't want to seem severe, but I cannot bear a noise. I am so
worn out when I come from the office. It seems each day my head aches
worse than it did the day before." Miss Dorcas sighed. "And if it isn't
a downright ache when I come home, it begins to pound as soon as I look
at this book--" she eyed the account-book open before her--"I hoped you
could have some new shoes this month. Those are downright shabby. But
there isn't any money for them. I don't see how I am going to pay the
gas bill unless we stop eating. It costs so much to live!"

"Perhaps Miss Santa Claus will give us something," suggested Anne.

"Perhaps so," answered Miss Dorcas, absently, poising her pencil above a
column of figures in her account-book.

'Miss Santa Claus' was the name that Anne had given to a gentlewoman in
the apartment below. Anne had a smiling acquaintance with her and was
deeply interested in glimpses of her visitors. Miss Santa Claus's real
name was Margery Hartman. Her fair hair was growing silvery, but her
cheeks were pink and soft with lingering girlhood and the spirit of
eternal youth looked from her clear blue eyes. She was the district
agent of the Associated Charities, and worked untiringly with kind heart
and clear head to aid and uplift the poor around her.

One September afternoon, Anne,