“If ever a girl needed work, it’s you!” cried Polly. “You began to be a young lady so early, that you are tired of everything at twenty-two. I wish you’d go at something, then you’d find how much talent and energy you really had.”

“I know ever so many girls who are just like me, sick to death of fashionable life, but don’t know what to take in its place. I’d like to travel; but papa says he can’t afford it, so I can only drag about and get on as I may.”

“I pity you rich girls so much, you have so many opportunities, and don’t seem to know how to use them. I suppose I should do just the same in your place, but it seems now as if I could be very happy and useful with plenty of money.”

“You are that without it. There, I won’t croak any more. Let us go and take a good walk, and don’t you tell anyone how I came and cried like a baby.”

“Never!” said Polly, putting on her bonnet.

“I ought to go and make calls,” said Fanny, “but I don’t feel now as if I ever wanted to see any of the girls again. Dreadful state of mind, isn’t it?”

“Suppose you come and see some of my friends instead! They are not fine or ceremonious, but lively, odd, and pleasant. Come, it will amuse you.”

“I will,” cried Fanny, whose spirits seemed improved by the shower. “Nice little old lady, isn’t she?” added Fan as she caught sight of Miss Mills, on their way out, sitting at a table piled with work, and sewing away with an energy that made the grey curls vibrate.

“Saint Mehitable, I call her. Now there is a rich woman who knew how to get happiness out of her money,” said Polly, as they walked away. “She was poor till she was nearly fifty; then a comfortable fortune was left her, and she knew just how to use it. That house was given her, but instead of living in it all alone, she filled it with poor gentle-folks who needed neat, respectable homes, but couldn’t get anything comfortable for their little money. I’m one of them, and I know the worth of what she does for me. Two old widow ladies live below me, several students overhead, poor Mrs. Kean and her lame boy have the back parlour, and Jenny the little bedroom next Miss Mills. Each pays what they can; that’s independent, and makes us feel better; but that dear woman does a thousand things that money can’t pay for, and we feel her influence all through the house. I’d rather be married, and have a home of my own; but next to that, I should like to be an old maid like Miss Mills.”

Polly’s sober face and emphatic tone made Fanny laugh, and at the cheery sound a young girl pushing a baby-carriage looked round and smiled.

“What lovely eyes!” whispered Fanny.

“Yes, that’s little Jane,” returned Polly, adding, when she had passed, with a nod and a friendly “Don’t get tired, Jenny,” “we help one another at our house, and every fine morning Jenny takes Johnny Kean out when she goes for her own walk. That gives his mother time to rest, does both the children good, and keeps things neighbourly. Miss Mills suggested it, and Jenny is so glad to do anything for anybody, it’s a pleasure to let her.”

“I’ve heard of Miss Mills before. But I should think she would get tired to death, sitting there making hoods and petticoats day after day,” said Fanny, after thinking over Jenny’s story for a few minutes, for seeing the girl seemed to bring it nearer, and make it more real to her.