on, or some telling of how this or that had gone on or turned
out.

In these days after the Great Fire, no wonder that the dozen or
fifteen became twenty, or even thirty; the very pigeons and sparrows
tell each other where the people are who love and feed them; no
wonder that all the chairs had to be brought in, and that the room
was full; that the room in heart and brain, for sympathy and plan
and counsel, was crowded also, or would have been, if heart and
brain were not made to grow as fast as they take in tendernesses and
thoughts. If, too, one need did not fit right in and help another;
and if being "right in the midst of the work" did not continually
give light and suggestion and opportunity.

Bel Bree came among them now, with her heart full.

"I know it better than ever," she said to Miss Desire. "I _know_
that what ever so many of these girls want, most of all, is _home_.
A place to work in where they can rest between whiles, if it is only
for snatches; not to be out, and on their feet, and just _driving_,
with the minutes at their heels, all day long. Girls want to work
under cover; they can favor themselves then, and not slight the work
either. And especially, they want to _belong_ somewhere. They can't
fling themselves about, separate, anywhere, without a great many
getting spoiled, or lost. They want some signs of care over them;
and I believe there are places where they could have it. If they can
put twenty tucks into a white petticoat for a cent a piece, and work
half a day at it, and find their own fire and bread and tea, why
can't they do it for half a cent a tuck, even, in people's houses,
where they can have fire and lodging and meals, and a name, at any
rate, of being seen to?"

"Say so to them, Bel. Tell them yourself, what you mean to do, and
find out who will do it with you. If this movement could come from
the girls themselves,--if two or three would join together and
begin,--I believe the leaven would work. I believe it is the next
thing, and that somebody is to lead the way. Why not you?"

That night, the Read-and-Talk left off the reading. Miss Ledwith
told them that there was so much to say,--so much she wanted a word
from them about,--that they would give up the books for one evening.
They would think about home, instead of far-off places; about
themselves,--each other,--and things that were laid out for them to
do, instead of people who had taken their turn at the world's work
hundred