l make it up."

Mrs. Lowe muttered something that was not heard by the seamstress, who
kept on down stairs, and left the house.

The rain was still falling and the wind blowing. Mary's feet were quite
wet again by the time she reached home.

"How are you, child?" asked Mrs. Grant, in kind concern, as Mary came
in.

"Not very well," was answered.

"Oh! I'm sorry! Have you taken cold?"

"I'm afraid that I have."

"I said it was wrong in you to go out this morning. Did you get very
wet?"

"Yes."

Mrs. Grant looked down at Mary's feet. "Are they damp?"

"A little."

"Come right into the sitting-room. I've had a fire made up on purpose
for you." And the considerate Mrs. Grant hurried Mary into the small
back room, and taking off her cloak and bonnet, placed her in a chair
before the fire. Then, as she drew off one of her shoes, and clasped
the foot in her hand, she exclaimed--

"Soaking wet, as I live!" Then added, after removing, with kind
officiousness, the other shoe--"Hold both feet to the fire, while I run
up and get you a pair of dry stockings. Don't take off the wet ones
until I come back."

In a few minutes Mrs. Grant returned with the dry stockings and a
towel. She bared one of the damp feet, and dried and heated it
thoroughly--then warmed one of the stockings and drew it on.

"It feels so good," said Mary, faintly, yet with a tone of satisfaction.

Then the other foot was dried, warmed, and covered. On completing this
welcome service, Mrs. Grant looked more steadily into Mary's face, and
saw that her cheeks were flushed unnaturally, and that her eyes shone
with an unusual lustre. She also noticed, that in breathing there was
an effort.

"You got very wet this morning," said Mrs. Grant.

"Yes. The wind blew right in my face all the way. An umbrella was
hardly of any use."

"You dried yourself on getting to Mrs. Lowe's?"

Mary shook her head.

"What?"

"There was no fire in the room."

"Why, Mary!"

"I had no change of clothing, and there was no fire in the room. What
could I do?"

"You could have gone down into the kitchen, if nowhere else, and dried
your feet."

"It would have been better if I had done so; but you know how hard it
is for me to intrude myself or give trouble."

"Give trouble! How strangely you do act, sometimes! Isn't life worth a
little trouble to save? Mrs. Lowe should have seen to this. Didn't she
notice your condition?"

"I think not."

"Well, it's hard