th wicked and
selfish. She had still twopence in her pocket--for the good-natured
omnibus conductor had paid her fare himself. She would go to the
nearest cottage and ask for some milk for the Pink, and then she
wondered--poor, little, lonely, unhappy child--how long it would take
her to die.

CHAPTER XLI.

MRS. DREDGE TO THE RESCUE.

High tea at Penelope Mansion was an institution. Mrs. Flint said in
confidence to her boarders that she preferred high tea to late dinner.
She said that late dinner savored too distinctly of the mannish
element for her to tolerate. It reminded her, she said, of clerks
returning home dead-beat after a day's hard toil; it reminded her of
sordid labor, and of all kinds of unpleasant things; whereas high tea
was in itself womanly, and was in all respects suited to the gentle
appetites of ladies who were living genteelly on their means. Mrs.
Flint's boarders were as a rule impressed by her words, and high tea
was, in short, a recognized institution of the establishment.

On the evening of the day when poor little Daisy had disappeared from
her Palace Beautiful Mrs. Flint's boarders were enjoying their genteel
repast in the cool shades of her parlor. They had shrimps for tea, and
eggs, and buttered toast, and a small glass dish of sardines, to say
nothing of a few little dishes of different preserves. Mrs. Dredge,
who was considered by the other ladies to have an appetite the reverse
of refined, had, in addition to these slight refreshments, a mutton
chop. This she was eating with appetite and relish, while Miss Slowcum
languidly tapped her egg, and remarked as she did so that it was
hollow, but not more so than life. Mrs. Mortlock, since the
commencement of her affliction, always sat by Mrs. Flint's side, and
when she imagined that her companions were making use of their sight
to some purpose she invariably requested Mrs. Flint to describe to her
what was going on. On this particular evening the whole party were
much excited and impressed by the unexpected return of Poppy, alias
Sarah.

"It took me all of a heap!" said Mrs. Flint; "I really thought the
girl was saucy, and had gone--but never a bit of it. If you'll believe
me, ladies, she came in as humble as you please, and quite willing to
go back to her work in a quiet spirit. 'Sarah,' I said to her in the
morning, 'you'll rue this day,' and she did rue it, and to some
purpose, or she wouldn't have returned so sharp in the even