Jenny, however, was of too happy a temperament to remain sad for a long time, and before night her loud, merry laugh had more than once rang out in the upper hall, causing even Miss Lyon to listen, it was so clear and joyous.  That afternoon, Aunt Martha, who was going to call upon Mrs. Mason, started for home, leaving the girls alone among strangers.  It was a rainy, dreary day, and the moment her aunt was gone, Ida threw herself upon the bed and burst into tears.  Jenny, who occupied the next room, was also low spirited, for Rose was terribly cross, calling her a “ninny hammer,” and various other dignified names.  Among the four girls, Mary was the only cheerful one, and after a time she succeeded in comforting Ida, while Jenny, catching something of her spirit, began to laugh loudly, as she told a group of girls how many ludicrous blunders she made when they undertook to question her about Euclid, which she had never studied in her life!

And now in a few days life at Mt.  Holyoke commenced in earnest.  Although perfectly healthy, Mary looked rather delicate, and it was for this reason, perhaps, that the sweeping and dusting of several rooms were assigned to her, as her portion of the labor.  Ida and Rose fared much worse, and were greatly shocked, when told that they both belonged to the wash circle!

“I declare,” said Rose, “it’s too bad.  I’ll walk home before I’ll do it;” and she glanced at her white hands, to make sure they were not already discolored by the dreaded soap suds!

Jenny was delighted with her allotment, which was dish-washing.

“I’m glad I took that lesson at the poor-house years ago,” said she one day to Rose, who snappishly replied, “I’d shut up about the poor-house, or they’ll think you the pauper instead of Madam Howard.”

“Pauper?  Who’s a pauper?” asked Lucy Downs, eager to hear so desirable a piece of news.

Ida Selden’s large black eyes rested reprovingly upon Rose, who nodded towards Mary, and forthwith Miss Downs departed with the information, which was not long in reaching Mary’s ears.

“Why, Mary, what’s the matter?” asked Ida, when towards the close of the day she found her companion weeping in her room.  Without lifting her head, Mary replied, “It’s foolish in me to cry, I know, but why need I always be reproached with having been a pauper.  I couldn’t help it.  I promised mother I would take care of little Allie as long as she lived, and if she went to the poor-house, I had to go too.”

“And who was little Allie?” asked Ida, taking Mary’s hot hands between her own.

In few words Mary related her history, omitting her acquaintance with George Moreland, and commencing at the night when her mother died.  Ida was warm-hearted and affectionate, and cared but little whether one were rich or poor if she liked them.  From the first she had been interested in Mary, and now winding her arms about her neck, and kissing away her tears, she promised to love her, and to be to her as true and faithful a friend as Jenny.  This promise, which was never broken, was of great benefit to Mary, drawing to her side many of the best girls in school, who soon learned to love her for herself, and not because the wealthy Miss Selden seemed so fond of her.