beauty must go together. Don't you think these
broad shoulders can bear burdens without breaking down, these hands work
well, these eyes see clearly, and these lips do something besides simper
and gossip?"

Fanny was silent; but a voice from Bess's corner said, "Put a child in
her arms, Becky."

"Not that even, for she is to be something more than a nurse."

"Give her a ballot-box," cried a new voice, and turning round, they saw
an odd-looking woman perched on a sofa behind them.

"Thank you for the suggestion, Kate. I 'll put that with the other
symbols at her feet; for I 'm going to have needle, pen, palette,
and broom somewhere, to suggest the various talents she owns, and the
ballot-box will show that she has earned the right to use them. How
goes it?" and Rebecca offered a clay-daubed hand, which the new-comer
cordially shook.

"Great news, girls! Anna is going to Italy!" cried Kate, tossing up her
bonnet like a school-boy.

"Oh, how splendid! Who takes her? Has she had a fortune left her? Tell
all about it," exclaimed the girls, gathering round the speaker.

"Yes, it is splendid; just one of the beautiful things that does
everybody heaps of good, it is so generous and so deserved. You know
Anna has been longing to go; working and hoping for a chance, and never
getting it, till all of a sudden Miss Burton is inspired to invite the
girl to go with her for several years to Italy. Think of the luck of
that dear soul, the advantages she 'll have, the good it will do her,
and, best of all, the lovely way in which it comes to her. Miss Burton
wants, her as a friend, asks nothing of her but her company, and Anna
will go through fire and water for her, of course. Now, is n't that
fine?"

It was good to see how heartily these girls sympathized in their
comrade's good fortune. Polly danced all over the room, Bess and Becky
hugged one another, and Kate laughed with her eyes full, while even
Fanny felt a glow of, pride and pleasure at the kind act.

"Who is that?" she whispered to Polly, who had subsided into a corner.

"Why, it Is Kate King, the authoress. Bless me, how rude not to
introduce you! Here, my King, is an admirer of yours, Fanny Shaw, and
my well beloved friend," cried Polly, presenting Fan, who regarded the
shabby young woman with as much respect, as if she had been arrayed in
velvet and ermine; for Kate had written a successful book by accident,
and happened to be the fashion, just then.

"It 's t