mpathized with the romances of so many of her comrades, had a
romance of her own. Such a hugging and kissing as went on, you never
saw, unless you have seen a crowd of such girls together. Every one
was full of questions, and there were almost as many tears shed as
questions asked.

He was a carpenter, Josephine told them. She had known him ever since
she was with the dressmaker who took her out of the asylum. He lived
in Utica, New York. He had a good job, and they were to be married as
soon as she could get ready.

So Josephine set to work with her nimble fingers to make her
trousseau. During the years she had worked for me, the Matron at the
Friendly Society, and many of its patrons had come to know and love
dear little Josephine, and in our house there was almost as much
excitement over the news as there was at the Association at the South
End. All the girls set to work to make something for little Josephine.
Every one for whom she had worked gave her something. One lady gave
her black silk for a frock. All the girls sewed a bit of underwear for
her. She had sheets and table linen, and all sorts of dainty things
which her girl friends loved to count over, and admire in the evening
without the least bit of envy. By the time Spring came Josephine had
to buy a new trunk to pack her things away in.

Then she told us all that she was going to Utica to be married. What
was the use of his spending his money to come east for her, and pay
his expenses back? That seemed reasonable, and the day was fixed for
her departure.

Her trunks were packed.

She took a night train so that we could all go to the station to see
her off, and I am sure that the crowd who saw us kissing her good-bye
are not likely to forget the scene.

Then the girls went home chattering about "dear little Josephine."

In due time came a letter from a place near Utica, where she was, she
said, on her little "wedding trip," and "very happy," and "he" sent
his love, and it was signed with her new name, and she would send us
her address as soon as she was settled.

Time went by--some months. Then she did send an address, but she did
not write often, and when she did, she said little but that she was
happy.

As nearly as I can remember, it was a year and a half after she left
that news came that Josephine had a son. By that time a great many of
the girls she had known were gone. Changes come fast in such a place.
But there was great rejoicing, and th