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"And, Hattie, don't you see? Something will have to be done. Don't you see where all this is leading? Fred has been gambling, hasn't he?"

"I—I'm afraid so."

"And you know he drinks."

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"Y-yes. But he isn't going to, any more. He said he wasn't. He wrote a beautiful letter. He said if his father would help him out of this scrape, he'd never get into another one, and he'd SHOW him how much he appreciated it."

"Good! I'm glad to hear that," cried Miss Maggie. "He'll come out all right, yet."

"Of course he will!" Mr. Smith, over at the window, blew his nose vigorously. Mr. Smith had not sat down since Miss Maggie's entrance. He had crossed to the window, and had stood looking out—at nothing—all through Mrs. Hattie's story.

"You do think he will, don't you?" choked Mrs. Hattie, turning from one to the other piteously. "He said he was ashamed of himself; that this thing had been an awful lesson to him, and he promised—oh, he promised lots of things, if Jim would only go up and help him out of this. He'd never, never have to again. But he will, I know he will, if that Gaylord fellow stays there. The whole thing was his fault—I know it was. I hate him! I hate the whole family!"

"Why, Hattie, I thought you liked them!"

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"I don't. They're mean, stuck-up things, and they snub me awfully. Don't you suppose I know when I'm being snubbed? And that Gaylord girl—she's just as bad, and she's making my Bessie just like her. I got Bess into the same school with her, you know, and I was so proud and happy. But I'm not—any longer. Why, my Bess, my own daughter, actually looks down on us. She's ashamed of her own father and mother—and she shows it. And it's that Gaylord girl that's done it, too, I believe. I thought I—I was training my daughter to be a lady—a real lady; but I never meant to train her to look down on—on her own mother!"

"I'm afraid Bessie—needs something of a lesson," commented Miss Maggie tersely. "But Bessie will be older, one of these days, Hattie, and then she'll—know more."

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"But that's what I've been trying to teach her—'more,' something more all the time, Maggie," sighed Mrs. Hattie, wiping her eyes. "And I've tried to remember and call her Elizabeth, too.—but I can't. But, somehow, to-day, nothing seems of any use, any way. And even if she learns more and more, I don't see as it's going to do any good. I haven't got ANY friends now. I'm not fine enough yet, it seems, for Mrs. Gaylord and all that crowd. They don't want me among them, and they show it. And all my old friends are so envious and jealous since the money came that THEY don't want me, and THEY show it; so I don't feel comfortable anywhere."

"Never mind, dear, just stop trying to live as you think other folks want you to live, and live as YOU want to, for a while."

Mrs. Hattie smiled faintly, wiped her eyes again, and got to her feet.

"You talk just like Jim. He's always saying that."

"Well, just try it," smiled Miss Maggie, helping her visitor into the luxurious fur coat. "You've no idea how much more comfort you'll take."