and new."

She felt almost confident of success this morning; her mind was busy
with plans of the work she would find. She was glad to feel herself one
in a giant hive of workers, all girls like herself, cutting out their
lives for themselves, earning their own living.

Breakfast brought with it a slight disillusionment. The dining-room in
Shamrock House is in the basement; chill and dreary of aspect, its
windows always dirty and unopenable, because at the slightest excuse of
an open window the small boys of the neighbourhood will make it their
target for all kinds of filth. Rotting vegetables, apple-cores,
scrapings of mud; there is quite sufficient of all that outside the
windows without encouraging it to come in. Six long deal tables occupy
the space of the room, and it is one of the few amusements which the
children of Digby Street possess to gather at the railings and watch the
inhabitants of Shamrock House being fed.

It was the last flight of stairs into the basement which damped Joan's
enthusiasm for her new home. As she stood hesitating in the doorway, for
there were a great many people in the room, and the tables seemed
crowded, she caught Miss Nigel's eye.

"You will find a seat over there," the lady called out to her, waving a
hand in the direction of the furthest table. "Help yourself to bacon,
which is on the hot case near the fire, and come here for your tea or
coffee. By the way, which do you like?"

Joan asked for tea, and having secured her cup and a small piece of
unappetizing bacon, she found her way over to the indicated table. A
girl sat at the head of it, and since she was ensconced behind a
newspaper and apparently paying no attention to anybody, Joan chose the
chair next her. She felt on the sudden shy and unwilling to make friends
with anyone, the chill of the room was striking into her heart.

She had presently to rouse her neighbour, however, to ask her to pass
the salt, and at that the girl lifted a pair of penetrating eyes and
fixed Joan with an intent stare.

"New arrival?" she asked.

"Yes," Joan admitted. "I came last night."

"Humph!" the girl commented. "Well, don't touch the jam this morning. It
is peculiar to Shamrock House--plum-stones, raspberry-pips and glue."
She swept the information at Joan and returned to her paper.

She was a big girl with rather a heavy face and strong, capable-looking
hands. Despite her manners, which were undeniably bad, Joan would almost
have