e 30._]
But Wyn did not see her anywhere, and it seemed useless to wander down
Market Street looking for her. So, when she had completed her purchases,
she turned her face homeward.

She went up past Mr. Erad's store again and turned through Archer
Street. As she crossed into the park she looked for a settee to rest on,
for unconsciously she had walked more briskly than usual.

There, under a wide-limbed oak, was a green-painted seat, removed from
any other settee; but there was a figure on it.

"There's room for two, I guess," thought Wyn; and then she made a
discovery that almost made her cry out aloud. Its occupant was the very
girl for whom she was in search!

Wyn controlled her impulse to run forward, and approached the bench
quite casually. Before she reached it, however, she realized that the
dark girl was crying softly.

Natural delicacy would have restrained Wyn from approaching the girl so
abruptly. Only, she was deeply interested, and already knowing the
occasion for her tears, the captain of the Go-Ahead Club could not
ignore the forlorn figure on the bench.

Without speaking, she dropped into the seat beside the strange girl, and
put her hand on the other's shoulder.

"My dear!" she said, when the startled gray eyes--all a-flood with
tears--were raised to her own. "My dear, tell me all about
it--_do_! If I can't help you, I will be your friend, and it will
make you feel lots better to tell it all to somebody who sympathizes."

"Bu-but you ca-can't sympathize with me!" gasped the other, looking into
Wyn's steady, brown eyes and finding friendliness and commiseration
there. "You--you see, you never knew the lack of anything good; you're
not poor."

"No, I am not poor," admitted Wyn.

"And I don't want charity!" cried the strange girl quickly.

"I am not going to offer it to you. But I'd dearly love to be your
friend," Wyn said. "You know--you're so pretty!" she added, impulsively.

The girl flushed charmingly again. "I--I guess I'm not very pretty in my
old duds, and with my nose and eyes red from crying."

But she was really one of those few persons who are not made ugly by
crying. She had neither red eyes nor a red nose.

"Do tell me what troubles you," urged Wyn, patting her firm, calloused
hand.

Those hands were no soft, useless members--no, indeed! Pretty as she
was, the stranger had evidently been in the habit of performing arduous
manual labor.

"Where do you live, my dear?" asked