ry type, the
words of the paper in her grasp. Those scrawling lines, roaming from
blot to blot across the soiled sheet, had communicated to Jane no pain
of a personal sort. So far, indeed, as their trend took her on the
score of feeling, she might even have found something satisfying in Mr.
Keene's news, since this was merely a statement of his financial
disability. All along Jane had been dreading the hour when, instead of
this frank disclosure of "hard luck," there should come to her a parcel
of money. Not to have any money to send might conjecturally be
distressing to Mr. Keene; but Jane felt that he would be able to endure
his embarrassment better than she herself any question of barter
respecting Lola.

The very thought of being paid for what she had so freely given hurt
Jane. Without realizing its coldness and emptiness, her life had been
truly void of human warmth before the little, lonely girl stole in to
fill it with her piteous, proud presence. A happier child, with more
childish ways, might not so fully have compassed Jane's awakening; for
this had been in proportion to the needs of the one who so forlornly
made plea for entrance. Having once thrown wide the door of her heart,
Jane had begun to understand the blessedness that lies in generosity.
Lola might never care for her, indeed; but to Lola she owed the impulse
of loving self-bestowal, which is as shining sunlight in the bosom.

Mr. Keene wrote that the claim he had been working had proved
valueless. He expected better luck next time; but just now he could not
do as he had intended for Lola; and in view of his unsettled
circumstances he thought it might be well if Miss Combs could place the
girl in some family where her services would be acceptable.

"Life," he wrote, was at best "a rough proposition," and it would
doubtless be good for Lola, who had sundry faults of temper, to learn
this fact early. For the present she would have to give up all idea of
going to school. Mr. Keene would be sorry if the prospect displeased
his daughter, but people couldn't have everything their own way in this
world.

Such words as these Jane instinctively knew would fall crushingly upon
Lola, and leave her in a sorry plight of abject, hardening thought.
Therefore, steeling herself to bear the girl's misinterpretation, she
said, "Lola, your father wouldn't want you to see this letter. It's on
business."

"Does he say I'm not to see it?" asked Lola.

Jane's brows tw