looking as frivolous as
the lion in the circus with a bow on his tail!"

She ran after her disappearing mother with some question, and Philip,
finding himself alone with Mag, was reminded of a certain duty he had to
perform.

He stood a moment gazing down at her, she so intent upon her labors that
she did not notice he was there. As always, the pathos of the girl moved
him strongly; so young she was to be already one of life's failures, so
helplessly a victim of early environment. Believed from care and
hardship, well-fed and well-clothed and sheltered, she had grown sleek
and soft and pretty as a petted kitten, and there should have been a
look of content about her which he missed. Her mouth drooped a little,
and now and then a visible shadow crossed her face.

He sighed. Rumor was once again busy with the name of Mag Henderson.
Sometimes Philip wearied of his job as the neighborhood's spiritual
policeman.

He asked gently: "Mag, you're not happy here at Storm?"

She looked up with a start. "Why--I didn't know no one was there! Why,
yes, sir. They're real good to me and baby here."

"And you like your work, don't you?"

Again he noticed the shadow on her face. "I reckon so--as well as I'd
like any work." People were always frank with Philip. "A gal gits kind
o' tired of workin' all the time, though. I make dresses and trim hats
for most of the ladies round about, now, and they pay me good, too.
But...."

"But it's all work and no play, eh?"

"That's it," she said, grateful for his understanding. "I don't never
have no fun. I ain't got no gen'leman friends, nor nothing. What's the
use of havin' good clothes, and lookin' pretty and all, ef you don't get
to go somewhere so that folks kin see you? I'm _tired_ of bein' looked
down on," she complained fretfully. "I ain't got a friend on this place
'cep'n Miss Jacky, and now she--"

Mag stopped short. Philip wondered what she had been about to say, but
he was too good a confessor to force confidences.

"You've always got the Madam," he said.

"Yes, but she don't care nothing about _me_. She's kind enough, but so's
she kind to any cur dog that comes along. What am I to her?"

"You've got your baby, Mag."

But the childish, fretful face did not soften. "Babies are more trouble
than company to a person. Besides, she likes Miss Jacky now bettern't
her own mammy. She cries to go to her from me.--It's fun I want, like
other gals. Everybody, it seems like, has fun