'em."

"And you thought it would be good times, did you, to go off twenty miles
into the country, to live alone with an old woman like me?"

Miss Henderson's tone softened kindly to the rough, uncouth girl, and
encouraged her to confidence.

"Well, you see, mum, I should like to go where things is green and
pleasant. I lived in the country once--ever so long ago--when I was a
little girl."

Miss Henderson could not help a smile that was half amused, and wholly
pitiful, as she looked in the face of this creature of fourteen, so
strange and earnest, with its outline of fuzzy, cropped hair, and heard
her talk of "ever so long ago."

"Are you strong?"

"Yes'm. I ain't never sick."

"And willing to work?"

"Yes'm. Jest as much as I know how."

"And want to learn more?"

"Yes'm. I don't know as I'd know enough hardly, to begin, though."

"Can you wash dishes? And sweep? And set table?"

To each of these queries Glory successively interposed an affirmative
monosyllable, adding, gratuitously, at the close, "And tend baby, too,
real good." Her eyes filled, as she thought of the Grubbling baby with
the love that always grows for that whereto one has sacrificed oneself.

"You won't have any babies to tend. Time enough for that when you've
learned plenty of other things. Who do you belong to?"

"I don't belong to anybody, mum. Father, and mother, and grandmother is
all dead. I've done the chores and tended baby up at Mrs. Grubbling's
ever since. That's in Budd Street. I'm staying now in High Street, with
Mrs. Foye. Number 15."

"I'll come after you to-morrow. Have your things ready to go right off."

"I'm so glad you took her, auntie," said Faith, as they went out. "She
looks as if she hadn't been well treated. Think of her wanting so to go
into the country! I should like to do something for her."

"That's my business," answered Aunt Faith, curtly, but not crossly.
"You'll find somebody to do for, if you look out. If your mother's
willing, though, you might mend up one of your old school dresses for
her. 'Tisn't likely she's got anything to begin with." And so saying,
Aunt Faith turned precipitately into a drygoods store, where she bought
a large plaid woolen shawl, and twelve yards of dark calico. Coming out,
she darted as suddenly, and apparently unpremeditatedly, across the
street into a milliner's shop, and ordered home a brown rough-and-ready
straw bonnet, and four yards of ribbon to match.

"And that y