“What does Ella do?” asked one, and Mrs. Johnson replied, “She merely fixes her curls in the broken looking-glass, and cries because she is hungry.”

“She is pretty, I believe?” said Mrs. Campbell, and Rosa Pond, who sat by the window, and had not spoken before, immediately answered, “Oh, yes, she is perfectly beautiful; and do you know, Mrs. Campbell, that when she is dressed clean and nice, I think she looks almost exactly like your little Ella!”

A haughty frown was Mrs. Campbell’s only answer, and Rosa did not venture another remark, although several whispered to her that they, too, had frequently observed the strong resemblance between Ella Howard and Ella Campbell.

From what has been said, the reader will readily understand that the sick woman in whom Mrs. Johnson was so much interested, was our old acquaintance Mrs. Howard.

All inquiries for her sisters had been fruitless, and after stopping for a time in Worcester, they had removed to Chicopee, where recently Mr. Howard had died.  Their only source of maintenance was thus cut off, and now they were reduced to the utmost poverty.  Since we last saw them a sickly baby had been added to their number.  With motherly care little Mary each day washed and dressed it, and then hour after hour carried it in her arms, trying to still its feeble moans, which fell so sadly on the ear of her invalid mother.

It was a small, low building which they inhabited, containing but one room and a bedroom, which last they had ceased to occupy, for one by one each article of furniture had been sold, until at last Mrs. Howard lay upon a rude lounge, which Frank had made from some rough boards.  Until midnight the little fellow toiled, and then when his work was done crept softly to the cupboard, there lay one slice of bread, the only article of food which the house contained.  Long and wistfully he looked at it, thinking how good it would taste; but a glance at the pale faces near decided him.  “They need it more than I,” said he, and turning resolutely away, he prayed that he “might sleep pretty soon and forget how hungry he was.”

Day after day he worked on, and though his cheek occasionally flushed with anger when of his ragged clothes and naked feet the village boys made fun, he never returned them any answer, but sometimes when alone the memory of their thoughtless jeers would cause the tears to start, and then wiping them away, he would wonder if it was wicked to be poor and ragged.  One morning when he attempted to rise, he felt oppressed with a languor he had never before experienced, and turning on his trundlebed, and adjusting his blue cotton jacket, his only pillow, he again slept so soundly that Mary was obliged to call him twice ere she aroused him.

That night he came home wild with delight,—­he had earned a whole dollar, and knew how he could earn another half dollar to-morrow.  “Oh, I wish it would come quick,” said he, as he related his success to his mother.