A servant came just then to lead her upstairs; for Miss Belle wished the hat altered, and must give directions.  With her heart in a flutter, and pinker roses in her cheeks than the one in her pocket, Lizzie followed to a handsome room, where a pretty girl stood before a long mirror with the hat in her hand.

“Tell Madame Tifany that I don’t like it at all, for she hasn’t put in the blue plume mamma ordered; and I won’t have rose-buds, they are so common,” said the young lady, in a dissatisfied tone, as she twirled the hat about.

“Yes, miss,” was all Lizzie could say; for she considered that hat the loveliest thing a girl could possibly own.

“You had better ask your mamma about it, Miss Belle, before you give any orders.  She will be up in a few moments, and the girl can wait,” put in a maid, who was sewing in the ante-room.

“I suppose I must; but I won’t have roses,” answered Belle, crossly.  Then she glanced at Lizzie, and said more gently, “You look very cold; come and sit by the fire while you wait.”

“I’m afraid I’ll wet the pretty rug, miss; my feet are sopping,” said Lizzie, gratefully, but timidly.

“So they are!  Why didn’t you wear rubber boots?”

“I haven’t got any.”

“I’ll give you mine, then, for I hate them; and as I never go out in wet weather, they are of no earthly use to me.  Marie, bring them here; I shall be glad to get rid of them, and I’m sure they’ll be useful to you.”

“Oh, thank you, miss!  I’d like ’em ever so much, for I’m out in the rain half the time, and get bad colds because my boots are old,” said Lizzie, smiling brightly at the thought of the welcome gift.

“I should think your mother would get you warmer things,” began Belle, who found something rather interesting in the shabby girl, with shy bright eyes, and curly hair bursting out of the old hood.

“I haven’t got any mother,” said Lizzie, with a pathetic glance at her poor clothes.

“I’m so sorry!  Have you brothers and sisters?” asked Belle, hoping to find something pleasant to talk about; for she was a kind little soul.

“No, miss; I’ve got no folks at all.”

“Oh, dear; how sad!  Why, who takes care of you?” cried Belle, looking quite distressed.

“No one; I take care of myself.  I work for Madame, and she pays me a dollar a week.  I stay with Mrs. Brown, and chore round to pay for my keep.  My dollar don’t get many clothes, so I can’t be as neat as I’d like.”  And the forlorn look came back to poor Lizzie’s face.

Belle said nothing, but sat among the sofa cushions, where she had thrown herself, looking soberly at this other girl, no older than she was, who took care of herself and was all alone in the world.  It was a new idea to Belle, who was loved and petted as an only child is apt to be.  She often saw beggars and pitied them, but knew very little about their wants and lives; so it was like turning a new page in her happy life to be brought so near to poverty as this chance meeting with the milliner’s girl.