Then came the sweet old words, “Let not your heart be troubled.”  “In the time of trouble he shall hide me in his pavilion; in the secret of his tabernacle shall he hide me.”  She knelt down by the bed and said “Our Father.”  She was beginning to add some words of her own now.  She had heard them pray so in Christian Endeavor in the sentence prayers.  She wished she knew more about God, and His Book.  She had had so little time to ask or think about it.  Life seemed all one rush for clothes and position.

At supper-time Lizzie came home much excited.  She had been in hot water all the afternoon.  The girls had said at lunch-time that the manager was angry with Bessie, and had discharged her.  She found her coat and hat, and had brought them home.  The pocketbook was missing.  There was only fifteen cents in it; but Lizzie was much disturbed, and so was the grandmother.  They had a quiet consultation in the kitchen; and, when the aunt came, there was another whispered conversation among the three.

Elizabeth felt disapproval in the air.  Aunt Nan came, and sat down beside her, and talked very coldly about expenses and being dependent upon one’s relatives, and let her understand thoroughly that she could not sit around and do nothing; but Elizabeth answered by telling her how the manager had been treating her.  The aunt then gave her a dose of worldly wisdom, which made the girl shrink into herself.  It needed only Lizzie’s loud-voiced exhortations to add to her misery and make her feel ready to do anything.  Supper was a most unpleasant meal.  At last the grandmother spoke up.

“Well, Bessie,” she said firmly, “we’ve decided, all of us, that, if you are going to be stubborn about this, something will have to be done; and I think the best thing is for you to go to Mrs. Bailey and see what she’ll do for you.  It’s her business, anyway.”

Elizabeth’s cheeks were very red.  She said nothing.  She let them go on with the arrangements.  Lizzie went and got her best hat, and tried it on Elizabeth to see how she would look, and produced a silk waist from her store of garments, and a spring jacket.  It wasn’t very warm, it is true; but Lizzie explained that the occasion demanded strenuous measures, and the jacket was undoubtedly stylish, which was the main thing to be considered.  One could afford to be cold if one was stylish.

Lizzie was up early the next morning.  She had agreed to put Elizabeth in battle-array for her visit to Rittenhouse Square.  Elizabeth submitted meekly to her borrowed adornings.  Her hair was brushed over her face, and curled on a hot iron, and brushed backward in a perfect mat, and then puffed out in a bigger pompadour than usual.  The silk waist was put on with Lizzie’s best skirt, and she was adjured not to let that drag.  Then the best hat with the cheap pink plumes was set atop the elaborate coiffure; the jacket was put on; and a pair of Lizzie’s long silk gloves were struggled into.  They were a trite large when on, but to the hands unaccustomed to gloves they were like being run into a mould.