had carried back this scar in her
soul--to go back rejected, as one of the unfit, on whom even the
undermasters refuse to waste time. That has been, and often. Harmony
stood on her chair and looked at the trunks. The Big Soprano was calling
down the hall.

"Scatch," she was shouting briskly, "where is my hairbrush?"

A wail from Scatch from behind a closed door.

"I packed it, Heaven knows where! Do you need it really? Haven't you got
a comb?"

"As soon as I get something on I'm coming to shake you. Half the teeth
are out of my comb. I don't believe you packed it. Look under the bed."

Silence for a moment, while Scatch obeyed for the next moment.

"Here it is," she called joyously. "And here are Harmony's bedroom
slippers. Oh, Harry, I found your slippers!" The girl got down off the
chair and went to the door.

"Thanks, dear," she said. "I'm coming in a minute."

She went to the mirror, which had reflected the Empress Maria Theresa,
and looked at her eyes. They were still red. Perhaps if she opened the
window the air would brighten them.

Armed with the brush, little Scatchett hurried to the Big Soprano's
room. She flung the brush on the bed and closed the door. She held her
shabby wrapper about her and listened just inside the door. There were
no footsteps, only the banging of the gate in the wind. She turned to
the Big Soprano, heating a curling iron in the flame of a candle, and
held out her hand.

"Look!" she said. "Under my bed! Ten kronen!"

Without a word the Big Soprano put down her curling-iron, and
ponderously getting down on her knees, candle in hand, inspected the
dusty floor beneath her bed. It revealed nothing but a cigarette, on
which she pounced. Still squatting, she lighted the cigarette in the
candle flame and sat solemnly puffing it.

"The first for a week," she said. "Pull out the wardrobe, Scatch; there
may be another relic of my prosperous days."

But little Scatchett was not interested in Austrian cigarettes with a
government monopoly and gilt tips. She was looking at the ten-kronen
piece.

"Where is the other?" she asked in a whisper.

"In my powder-box."

Little Scatchett lifted the china lid and dropped the tiny gold-piece.

"Every little bit," she said flippantly, but still in a whisper, "added
to what she's got, makes just a little bit more."

"Have you thought of a place to leave it for her? If Rosa finds it,
it's good-bye. Heaven knows it was hard enough to get toget