stout, and that her face was not of such an ugly brick
red.

She gave the girl a nice supper, and talked to her all the time about
the lovely life she would have there.

"Ef I takes to yer I'll maybe hadopt yer as my own daughter, my dear,"
she said. "You're a wery purty gel. And may I ax how old you are, my
love?"

Connie answered that she was fourteen, and Mrs. Warren remarked that she
was small for her age and looked younger. She showed the girl her own
smart clothing, and tried the effect of her bit of fur round Connie's
delicate throat.

"There," she said; "you can keep it. It's only rabbit; I can't afford no
dearer. But yer'll look real foine in it when we goes out for our
constooshionul to-morrow morning."

Connie was really touched and delighted with the present of the fur. She
got very sleepy, too, after supper--more sleepy than she had ever felt
in her life--and when Mrs. Warren suggested that her new little handmaid
should retire early to bed, the girl was only too glad to obey.

CHAPTER VII.

SHOPPING.

Connie slept without dreams that night, and in the morning awoke with a
start. What was the matter? Was she late? It was dreadful to be late at
the doors of that cruel factory. Those who were late were docked of
their pay.

Peter Harris was always very angry when his daughter did not bring in
her full earnings on Saturday night. Connie cried out, "Father, father!"
and then sat up in bed and pushed her golden hair back from her little
face. What was the matter? Where was she? Why, what a pretty room! There
was scarcely any light yet, and she could not see the different articles
of furniture very distinctly, but it certainly seemed to her that she
was in a most elegant apartment. Her room at home was--oh, so bare! just
a very poor trundle-bed, and a little deal chest of drawers with a tiny
looking-glass on top, and one broken chair to stand by her bedside. This
was all.

But her present room had a carpet on the floor, and there were
pictures hanging on the walls, and there were curtains to the
windows, and the little bed on which she lay was covered with a gay
counterpane--soft--almost as soft as silk.

Where could she be? It took her almost a minute to get back the memory
of last night. Then she shuddered with the most curious feeling of
mingled ecstasy and pain. She was not going to the factory to-day. She
was not going to work at that horrid sewing-machine. She was not to meet
Sue. S