lack of sympathy or interest about them
all.

These things were to Flossy almost more than, under some circumstances,
the martyr's stake would have been to Marion Wilbur. Then she, too, as
she went about doing sundry little things toward making her room more
perfect in its order, took up Marion's fashion of pitying herself, and
looking longingly at the brightness in some other life.

Not Marion's, for she was all alone, and had great responsibilities, and
no one to shield her or help her or comfort her; that was dreadful. Not
Ruth's, for her life was so high up among books and paintings and
grandeur, that it looked like cold elegance and nothing else.

She wouldn't have lived that life; but there was Eurie Mitchell, in a
little home that had always looked sunny and cheerful when she had taken
occasional peeps into it--somewhat stirred up, as became a large family
and small means, but with a cleanly, cheery sort of stir that was
agreeable rather than otherwise.

And there were little children to love and care for--children who put
their arms around one's neck and said, "I love you," a great many times
in a day.

Flossy, having never tried it, did not realize that if the fingers had
been sticky or greasy or a trifle black, as they were apt to be, it
would be an exceeding annoyance to her. She saw what people usually do
see about other people's cares and duties, only the pretty, pleasant
side. To have felt somewhat of the other side she should have spent that
Monday with Eurie.

To Eurie a Monday rain was a positive affliction; it necessitated the
marshaling of tubs and pails into the little kitchen, and the endurance
of Mrs. Maloney's presence in constant contact with the dinner
arrangements--on pleasant days Mrs. Maloney betook herself to the open
air.

Then, in the Mitchell family there was that trial to any woman of
ordinary patience, a small girl who "helped"--worked for her board
mornings and evenings, and played at school the rest of the time.

Sallie Whitcomb, the creature who tried Eurie, was rather duller than
the most of her class and had her days or spells when she seemed
utterly incapable of understanding the English language. This day was
very apt to be Monday; and on the particular Monday of which I write,
the spell was on her in full force.

To add to the bewilderments of the day, Dr. Mitchell, after a very
hurried breakfast, had departed, taking the household genius with him,
to see a patient