can do a great deal for each other, if they will only stop fearing what ‘people will think’, and take a hearty interest in whatever is going to fit their sisters and themselves to deserve and enjoy the rights God gave them. There are so many ways in which this can be done, that I wonder they don’t see and improve them. I don’t ask you to go and make speeches, only a few have the gift for that, but I do want every girl and woman to feel this duty, and make any little sacrifice of time or feeling that may be asked of them because there is so much to do, and no one can do it as well as ourselves, if we only think so.”

“I’ll try!” said Polly, influenced more by her desire to keep Miss Mills’ good opinion than any love of self- sacrifice for her sex. It was rather a hard thing to ask of a shy, sensitive girl, and the kind old lady knew it, for in spite of the grey hair and withered face, her heart was very young, and her own girlish trials not forgotten. But she knew also that Polly had more influence over others than she herself suspected, simply because of her candid, upright nature; and that while she tried to help others, she was serving herself in a way that would improve heart and soul more than any mere social success she might gain by following the rules of fashionable life, which drill the character out of girls till they are as much alike as pins in a paper, and have about as much true sense and sentiment in their little heads. There was good stuff in Polly, unspoiled as yet, and Miss Mills was only acting out her principle of women helping each other. The wise old lady saw that Polly had reached that point where the girl suddenly blooms into a woman, asking something more substantial than pleasure to satisfy the new aspirations that are born; a time as precious and important to the after-life, as the hour when the apple-blossoms fall, and the young fruit waits for the elements to ripen or destroy the harvest.

Polly did not know this, and was fortunate in possessing a friend who knew what influences would serve her best, and who could give her what all women should desire to give each other, the example of a sweet, good life, more eloquent and powerful than any words; for this is a right no one can deny us.

Polly turned the matter over in her mind as she dressed, while Jenny played waiting-maid, little dreaming what this new friend was meaning to do for her, if she dared.

“Is it going to be a tea-party, Miss?” asked Jenny, as the black silk went rustling on, to her great admiration, for she considered Polly a beauty.

“Well, no, I think it will probably be a lecture,” answered Polly, laughing, for Jenny’s grateful service and affectionate eyes confirmed the purpose which Miss Mills’ little homily had suggested.

As she entered the Shaws’ parlour an hour or two later, an appalling array of well-dressed girls appeared, each provided with a dainty reticule, basket, or bag, and each tongue going a good deal faster than the needle, while the white fingers stitched sleeves in upside down, put flannel jackets together hind part before, or gobbled button-holes with the best intentions in life.

“You are a dear to come so early. Here’s a nice place for you between Belle and Miss Perkins, and here’s sweet little dress to make, unless you like something else better,” said Fanny, receiving her friend with warmth, and placing her where she thought she would enjoy herself.

“Thank you, I’ll take an unbleached cotton shirt, if you have such a thing, for it is likely to be needed before a cambric frock,” replied Polly, subsiding into her corner as quickly as possible, for at least six eye-glasses were up, and she didn’t enjoy being stared at.

Miss Perkins, a grave, cold-looking young lady, with an aristocratic nose, bowed politely, and then went on with her work, which displayed two diamond rings to great advantage. Belle, being of the demonstrative sort, smiled and nodded, drew up her chair, and began a whispered account of Trix’s last quarrel with Tom. Polly listened with interest while she sewed diligently, occasionally permitting her eyes to study the elegant intricacies of Miss Perkins’ dress, for that young lady sat like a statue, quirking her delicate fingers, and accomplishing about two stitches a minute.