Don't you
remember, Rose, she allowed us to dress up for charades out of her
wardrobe? Why, you once wore her wedding-gown pinned up round you. But
Mrs. Carey would not give Ella any choice. She repeated that there would
be one mouth the less to feed. She said Ella was the elder, and it was
her duty to her father and his creditors to go. So all poor Ella's
things were sought out and packed up last night--the letter only came
yesterday. She has had no time to bid Rose and me, or any of her other
friends, good-bye. She started with Cyril early this morning, and I
don't know what Phyllis will do without her."

"She must do the best she can," said Annie promptly, "and occupy herself
with something better than gossiping with you when she chances to meet
you coming from school. I suppose that was the manner in which you heard
all this; I don't think Mrs. Carey will approve of such a waste of
time."

"But, Annie," pled May, with her dark eyes ready to brim over, "poor
Phyllis has only me now, and she has a great many messages to go,
because their single servant has so much work to do in the house that
she cannot get out marketing. Mrs. Carey is always walking or sitting
with Mr. Carey. If it were not so, Phyllis is sure that her mother would
go out and not mind taking the market-basket herself--a rough, heavy
market-basket. The Careys' servants used to complain because one of them
was expected to carry it in the mornings. Phyllis is glad to let me have
it sometimes, her arms get tired and ache so. You see Jack and Dick are
not often home from school in time, and then they have the boots and
knives to clean. Cyril would carry it for her after it was dark, but
Mrs. Carey won't let her go out then, and sends her off to bed that she
may get up earlier for what she has to do in the morning."

That rough market-basket over which the Careys' former servants had
grumbled, was like a badge of honour in certain shining eyes--far more
so than Thirza Dyer's thoroughbred, or Camilla and Gussy Dyer's
exquisite hats and dainty parasols. Even Annie Millar was not too old or
too wise to refrain from wishing that Mrs. Millar, who still would not
let her daughters soil their fingers if she could help it, had sent them
out marketing in their native town, each in her turn flourishing a
market-basket.

At another time it would be Rose who would arrive flushed and breathless
with the great piece of news that Ned Hewett had taken the post of
st