lass lamp
set on a pleasant dining-room table covered with a red cloth. Betty
stepped inside the gate and found herself enveloped in two motherly
arms, and then led into the light and warmth of the family dining-room.

CHAPTER VIII

THERE was a kettle of stew on the stove in the kitchen, kept hot from
supper for Betty, with fresh dumplings just mixed before the train came
in, and bread and butter with apple sauce and cookies. They made her sit
right down and eat, before she even took her hat off, and they all sat
around her and talked while she ate. It made her feel very much at home
as if somehow she was a real relative.

It came over her once how different all this was from the house which
she had called home all her life. The fine napery, the cut glass and
silver, the stately butler! And here was she eating off a stone china
plate thick enough for a table top, with a steel knife and fork and a
spoon with the silver worn off the bowl. She could not help wondering
what her stepmother would have said to the red and white tablecloth, and
the green shades at the windows. There was an old sofa covered with
carpet in the room, with a flannel patchwork pillow, and a cat cuddled
up cosily beside it purring away like a tea-kettle boiling. Somehow,
poor as it was, it seemed infinitely more attractive than any room she
had ever seen before, and she was charmed with the whole family. Bobbie
sat at the other end of the table with his elbows on the table and his
round eyes on her. When she smiled at him he winked one eye and grinned
and then wriggled down under the table out of sight.

The mother had tired kind eyes and a firm cheerful mouth like Jane's.
She took Betty right in as if she had been her sister's child.

"Come, now, get back there, Emily. Don't hang on Lizzie. She'll be tired
to death of you right at the start. Give her a little peace while she
eats her supper. How long have you and Jane been friends, Lizzie?" she
asked, eager for news of her own daughter.

Betty's cheeks flushed and her eyes grew troubled. She was very much
afraid that being Lizzie was going to be hard work:

"Why, not so very long," she said hesitatingly.

"Are you one of the girls in her factory?"

"Oh, no!" said Betty wildly, wondering what would come next. "We--just
met--that is--why--_out one evening_!" she finished desperately.

"Oh, I see!" said the mother. "Yes, she wrote about going out sometimes,
mostly to the movies. And