ay her bills, of your pawning your clothes and
jewels, of your--"

"No, no!" interrupted the woman quickly: "no! How could she? I have no
enemy cruel enough to tell her that."

"But if she--or if Mrs. Tretherick--had heard of it? If Carry thought
you were poor, and unable to support her properly, it might influence
her decision. Young girls are fond of the position that wealth can give.
She may have rich friends, maybe a lover."

Mrs. Starbottle winced at the last sentence. "But," she said eagerly,
grasping Jack's hand, "when you found me sick and helpless at
Sacramento, when you--God bless you for it, Jack!--offered to help me to
the East, you said you knew of something, you had some plan, that would
make me and Carry independent."

"Yes," said Jack hastily; "but I want you to get strong and well first.
And, now that you are calmer, you shall listen to my visit to the
school."

It was then that Mr. Jack Prince proceeded to describe the interview
already recorded, with a singular felicity and discretion that shames
my own account of that proceeding. Without suppressing a single fact,
without omitting a word or detail, he yet managed to throw a poetic veil
over that prosaic episode, to invest the heroine with a romantic roseate
atmosphere, which, though not perhaps entirely imaginary, still, I fear,
exhibited that genius which ten years ago had made the columns of THE
FIDDLETOWN AVALANCHE at once fascinating and instructive. It was not
until he saw the heightening color, and heard the quick breathing, of
his eager listener, that he felt a pang of self-reproach. "God help her
and forgive me!" he muttered between his clinched teeth; "but how can I
tell her ALL now!"

That night, when Mrs. Starbottle laid her weary head upon her pillow,
she tried to picture to herself Carry at the same moment sleeping
peacefully in the great schoolhouse on the hill; and it was a rare
comfort to this yearning, foolish woman to know that she was so
near. But at this moment Carry was sitting on the edge of her bed,
half-undressed, pouting her pretty lips and twisting her long, leonine
locks between her fingers as Miss Kate Van Corlear--dramatically
wrapped in a long white counterpane, her black eyes sparkling, and her
thoroughbred nose thrown high in air--stood over her like a wrathful and
indignant ghost; for Carry had that evening imparted her woes and her
history to Miss Kate, and that young lady had "proved herself no friend"
by fa