tter spite that the rejected suitor cast courtesy to the winds,
rejoining, hotly:

"Go, then, Miss Pert, and the sooner the better! Shall I call a wagon to
take your trunk?" sarcastically.

"You know I have no trunk, Mr. Sparks, but I will pack my valise at
once, and perhaps you will let it stay till I can take it away. I must
rent a room somewhere first," she murmured.

"No; take it with you, I say. Your clothes might get contaminated
breathing the same air with me!" he answered, angrily.

So presently Dainty went away in the teeth of a howling winter storm,
without a penny in her purse, or a shelter for her head, while the
little ones sobbed out to Ailsa when she returned that bad papa had
driven sweet Dainty away.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

A NEW HOME.

Dainty dragged herself slowly along the snowy street, almost exhausted
by the weight of the hand-bag; and she wondered pathetically if it might
not be best to follow her mother's example, and seek refuge from life's
woes by the straight gate of death?

"Dear mother, if I only knew where to find the lonely grave where
strangers laid you, I would stretch myself upon it and die!" she sobbed,
the tears in her cheeks mixing with the melting snow, as it flew into
her pale face, driven by the bleak December gale.

She crept presently into a quiet area-way, and somewhat sheltered from
the driving storm, pondered on what she was to do now, without friends
and without money, in a cold, suspicious world.

Presently she heard girlish chatter and tittering, and glancing through
a window, saw several young girls busy at sewing-machines, directed by
an angular spinster whom she took to be a dress-maker.

A sudden temptation seized her, and she rapped timidly on the basement
door, bringing the spinster hurriedly to it.

"Do you want a dress made?" she inquired, glancing at Dainty's hand-bag.

"No, madame. I am in search of work. Do you wish another hand to sew?"
faltered Dainty.

"Um! yes--I don't know. Bring in your valise, and let us talk it over;"
ushering her into a tiny, cozy kitchen, where they could talk in
private.

"Now, then, what's your name, and how came you out hunting work in the
face of such weather? Tell the truth," she said, suspiciously; and
Dainty obeyed.

"I have been employed to help nurse some children, and was discharged
to-day. My name is Miss Chase."

"Did you bring a recommendation?" sharply.

"No, ma'am; but I think I can refer you to