little.

"Now, mammy, you are not going to be naughty to-day!" was Dulce's
morning salutation as she seated herself on the bed.

Mrs. Challoner smiled faintly:

"Was I very naughty last night, Dulce?"

"Oh, as bad as possible. You pushed poor Nan and Phillis away, and
would not let any one come near you but that cross old Dorothy, and
you never bade us good-night; but if you promise to be good, I will
forgive you and make it up," finished Dulce, with those light
butterfly kisses to which she was addicted.

"Now, Chatterbox, it is my turn," interrupted Phillis; and then she
began a carefully concocted little speech, very carefully drawn out to
suit her mother's sensitive peculiarities.

She went over the old ground patiently point by point. Mrs. Challoner
shuddered at the idea of letting lodgings.

"I knew you would agree with us," returned Phillis, with a convincing
nod; and then she went on to the next clause.

Mrs. Challoner argued a great deal about the governess scheme. She was
quite angry with Phillis, and seemed to suffer a great deal of
self-reproach, when the girl spoke of their defective education and
lack of accomplishments. Nan had to come to her sister's rescue; but
the mother was slow to yield the point:

"I don't know what you mean. My girls are not different from other
girls. What would your poor father say if he were alive? It is cruel
to say this to me, when I stinted myself to give you every possible
advantage, and I paid Miss Martin eighty pounds a year," she
concluded, tearfully, feeling as though she were the victim of a
fraud.

She was far more easily convinced that going out as companions would
be impracticable under the circumstances. "Oh, no, that will never
do!" she cried, when the two little rooms with Dulce were proposed;
and after this Phillis found her task less difficult. She talked her
mother over at last to reluctant acquiescence. "I never knew how I
came to consent," she said, afterwards, "but they were too much for
me."

"We cannot starve. I suppose I must give in to you," she said, at
last; "but I shall never hold up my head again." And she really
believed what she said.

"Mother, you must trust us," replied Phillis, touched by this victory
she had won. "Do you know what I said to Dulce? Work cannot degrade
us. Though we are dressmakers, we are still Challoners. Nothing can
make us lose our dignity and self-respect as gentlewomen."

"Other people will not recognize i