renched mass of brown, which reminded me in the firelight of
the colour of wet November leaves. She was soaked through, and yet as
she stood there, with her teeth chattering in the warmth, I was struck
by the courage, almost the defiance, with which she returned my gaze.
Baby that she was, I felt that she would scorn to cry while my glance
was upon her, though there were fresh tear marks on her flushed cheeks,
and around her solemn grey eyes that were made more luminous by her
broad, heavily arched black eyebrows, which gave her an intense and
questioning look. The memory of this look, which was strange in so young
a child, remained with me after the colour of her hair and every
charming feature in her face were forgotten. Years afterwards I think I
could have recognised her in a crowded street by the mingling of light
with darkness, of intense black with clear grey, in her sparkling
glance.

"I followed the wrong turn," said the pale little woman, breathing hard
with a pitiable, frightened sound, while my mother took her dripping
cloak from her shoulders, "and I could not keep on because of the rain
which came up so heavily. If I could only reach the foot of the hill I
might find a carriage to take me up-town."

My father had sprung forward as she entered, and was vigorously stirring
the fire, which blazed and crackled merrily in the open grate. She
accepted thankfully my mother's efforts to relieve her of her wet wraps,
but the little girl drew back haughtily when she was approached, and
refused obstinately to slip out of her cloak, from which the water ran
in streams to the floor.

"I don't like it here, mamma, it is a common place," she said, in a
clear childish voice, and though I hardly grasped the meaning of her
words, her tone brought to me for the first time a feeling of shame for
my humble surroundings.

"Hush, Sally," replied her mother, "you must dry yourself. These people
are very kind."

"But I thought we were going to grandmama's?"

"Grandmama lives up-town, and we are going as soon as the storm has
blown over. There, be a good girl and let the little boy take your wet
cap."

"I don't want him to take my cap. He is a common boy."

In spite of the fact that she seemed to me to be the most disagreeable
little girl I had ever met, the word she had used was lodged unalterably
in my memory. In that puzzled instant, I think, began my struggle to
rise out of the class in which I belonged by birth; and