hing
else to do as her friend asked and reveal what was close to her heart.
But reticence and, too, a feeling that she must keep to the plan that
she had formulated, held her back. So she only said in a half whisper,
"I am very much alone, Kathleen."

"I'm knowing that, darling."

"I never knew my father or my mother. I saw more of my grandfather than
of any one else. But he died last summer and left me with a little
money, only a little, and I came to New York."

"You've no sister to turn to?"

"No," very slowly.

"You said you had a brother once?"

"Yes, but he's a long way off. I don't see him any more."

"That's a lonely way to be. And is your grandmother alive now?"

"No." Then, with a touch of petulance, "I didn't like her much."

"But you're grieving, dear, I can tell that; and it's not for the dead,
but the living."

"Perhaps."

"Is it some man now that you're needing?"

"No," Hertha said with a little laugh that ended in a sob, "it's not a
man, Kathleen, it's my black mammy."

She put her arms around her friend's neck and kissed her good-night; and
then went to her room, her head erect, her carriage that of the
granddaughter of Judge Ogilvie. She had taken the first step and the
next would not be so difficult. But Kathleen, out in the kitchen, shook
her head and looked mystified.

CHAPTER XIX

The "Imperial," to which Hertha went every morning, was a high-grade
shop. The large room in which she spent forty-nine hours a week was as
clean as a conscientious scrubwoman could make it; the ventilation was
not bad, and few of the workers were obliged to use artificial light. At
rare moments of interruption, when stopping to catch a bit of thread or
to adjust a piece of trimming, Hertha would look about at her companions
bent over their machines, one running a tuck here, another attaching the
lace to the muslin there, and would marvel at their dexterity and at the
speed with which the finished product came out ready to go to another
room to be pressed. Later she might see it at a department store, thrown
over a show figure, and priced at $5.65 or $3.95, according to the day
of the week. They were pretty shirtwaists and she took a pride in her
part in their production.

By January the trade became brisk. Orders for "Imperial" waists were
shipped to-day to give place to new orders to be shipped to-morrow. The
girls were paid by the piece, and were, for their own interest, likely
to work as