hers, but what they heard made them feel sure that Susan was
indeed as kind a sister as the housekeeper had said.

When the ladies left the cottage, they took Susan with them through
the village.

"I fancy we shall find what we want here," said Miss Somers, stopping
before a shop-window where ribbons of all colors were displayed, and
where lace collars, glass buttons and sheets of pins were laid out in
order. They went in, and on the shelves behind the counter saw gay,
neat linens and calicoes.

"Now, Susan, choose yourself a gown," said Miss Somers. "Because you
are a busy girl and behave well, we wish others to see that such is
the conduct we approve."

The shopkeeper was the father of Susan's friend, Rose. He stretched
his arm to the highest shelf, then dived into drawers beneath the
counter, sparing no pains to show the best goods to his customers.

Susan did not show the interest that might have been expected. She was
thinking much of her lamb and more of her father. Miss Somers had put
a bright guinea into her hand and told her to pay for her own gown.
But Susan felt that this was a great deal of money to spend upon a
frock for herself, and yet she did not know how to ask if she might
keep it for a better purpose. Although Susan said nothing, Miss Somers
read in her face that she was perplexed. "She does not like any of
these things," whispered the lady to her sister.

"She seems to be thinking of something else," was the low reply.

"If you do not fancy any of these calicoes," said the shopkeeper to
Susan, "we shall have a larger choice soon."

"Oh," answered Susan, with a smile, and a blush, "these are all too
good for me, but--"

"But what, Susan?" asked Miss Somers. "Tell us what is passing in your
little mind."

Susan said nothing.

"Well then, it does not matter. You do not know us very well yet. When
you do, you will not, I am sure, be afraid to be frank. Put the guinea
in your pocket and make what use of it you please. From what we know
and from what we have heard of you, we are sure you will make a good
use of it."

"I think, madam," said the shopkeeper, "I have a pretty good guess
what will become of that guinea, but I say nothing."

"No, that is right," said Miss Somers; "we leave Susan to do just as
she likes with it, and now we must not keep her any longer. Good
night, Susan, we shall soon come again to your neat cottage."

Susan courtesied and looked gratefully at the ladies, but di