“Yes.  Nothing could fit more beautifully than the dresses she has made for my children.”

“How soon will you be done with her?”

“She will be through with my work in a day or two.”

“Is she engaged anywhere else?”

“I will ask her, if you desire it.”

“Do so, if you please.”

“Would you like to see her?”

“It’s of no consequence.  Say that I will engage her for a couple of weeks.  What are her terms?”

“Seventy-five cents a day.”

“So much?  I’ve never paid over sixty-two-and-a-half.”

“She’s worth the difference.  I’d rather pay her a dollar a day than give some women I’ve had, fifty cents.  She works faithfully in all things.”

“I’ll take your word for that, Mrs. Wykoff.  Please ask her if she can come to me next week; and if so, on what day?”

Mrs. Wykoff left the room.

“Will Monday suit you?” she asked, on returning.

“Yes; that will do.”

“Miss Carson says that she will be at your service on Monday.”

“Very well.  Tell her to report herself bright and early on that day.  I shall be all ready for her.”

“Hadn’t you better see her, while you are here?” asked Mrs. Wykoff.

“Oh, no.  Not at all necessary.  It will be time enough on Monday.  Your endorsement of her is all-sufficient.”

Mrs. Lowe, who had only been making a formal call, now arose, and with a courteous good morning, retired.  From the parlor, Mrs. Wykoff returned to the room occupied by Miss Carson.

“You look pale this morning, Mary,” said the lady as she came in, “I’m afraid you are not as well as usual.”

The seamstress lifted herself in a tired way, and took a long breath, at the same time holding one hand tightly against her left side.  Her eyes looked very bright, as they rested, with a sober expression, on Mrs. Wykoff.  But she did not reply.

“Have you severe pain there, Mary?” The voice was very kind; almost motherly.

“Not very severe.  But it aches in a dull way.”

“Hadn’t you better lie down for a little while?”

“Oh, no—­thank you, Mrs. Wykoff.”  And a smile flitted over the girl’s sweet, sad face; a smile that was meant to say—­“How absurd to think of such a thing!” She was there to work, not to be treated as an invalid.  Stooping over the garment, she went on with her sewing.  Mrs. Wykoff looked at her very earnestly, and saw that her lips were growing colorless; that she moved them in a nervous way, and swallowed every now and then.

“Come, child,” she said, in a firm tone, as she took Miss Carson by the arm.  “Put aside your work, and lie down on that sofa.  You are sick.”

She did not resist; but only said—–­

“Not sick, ma’am—­only a little faint.”

As her head went heavily down upon the pillow, Mrs. Wykoff saw a sparkle of tears along the line of her closely shut eyelids.