and meats had been wrapped in one bit of newspaper
along with the sweets, so that the flavor of each article spoiled the
flavor of all. Yet it was the first time that Mary had rebelled against
such an arrangement.

Now it was different. Amy's speech, Amy's manner and belongings, opened
before the slumbering ambition of the mill girl a picture of better
things, which she recognized as unattainable for herself.

Then she felt again the clasp of firm, young arms about her own neck,
and a face that was both smiling and tearful pressed close to her own.

"You dear little girl. I see, I understand. But you've never had a
chance to try how I've lived and I've never tried how you do. Let's
change. Yes; I insist, for this once. You eat my lunch, and I'll eat
yours. It will do Goodsoul's great heart no end of good when I tell her
about it, and it will make me comprehend just how life looks from your
side. Remember, we're both poor girls together now, and I--insist."

Amy had a will, as has been remarked. So, in a few seconds, the two
lunches were exchanged, and for almost the first time in her life Mary
Reese knew what it was to feed daintily and correctly.

"It makes me feel as if I was straighter, somehow. And you're a dear,
dear girl."

"Thank you, of course it does. I wouldn't like to do anything that hurt
my own self-respect, even in such a little thing as eating. But, you
see, I had my darling mother. Now I've had to let her go; yet if you'll
let me, I'll be so glad to teach you all she taught me. It will be
keeping her memory green in just the very way she'd like."

"Teaching isn't all. The difference is _born_ in us."

"Nonsense. Think of Mr. Metcalf. They say he was a foundling baby, and
yet he's a gentleman."

"Even if he doesn't speak to you in work hours?" asked Mary, with a
mischievous glance that would have surprised her mill mates had they
seen it. Already the leaven of kindness was working in her neglected
life, and for the moment she forgot to be upon the defensive against the
indifference of others.

"Even anything. But, hear me, Mary Reese. Here am I, as poor as poor can
be, but determined to succeed in doing something grand. Guess what?"

"I couldn't tell. The whistle will blow again in a minute."

"I'm going to build a Home for Mill Girls, where they shall have all
things that any gentlewoman should have. I haven't the least idea how
nor when nor where. But I'm going to do it. You'll see. And you