Belle nearly rendered futile all of Mildred’s efforts to hide the worst from her mother; for, after her duties were over, she went eagerly to the shop where she expected to find her sister.  Having learned that Miss Jocelyn had fainted and had gone home some time in the afternoon, she sped almost breathlessly after her, and burst into the room with the words, “Millie!  Millie!”

Fortunately Mrs. Jocelyn was busy over the stove at the moment and did not see Mildred’s strong cautionary gesture; but Belle’s perceptions were almost instantaneous, and with one significant glance of her dark eyes she entered into the loving conspiracy.

“What is it, Belle?” was Mrs. Jocelyn’s anxious query.

“I’m wild to know how Millie has got on the first day, and whether she has a big fight on her hands as I had.  If she has, I declare war, too, against all the powers and principalities—­not of the air, for there wasn’t a breath of it in our store to-day.  We’ve had a crush, and I’m half dead from trying to do two days’ work in one.  Ten minutes for lunch.  Scores of cross customers all wanting to be waited on at once, and the floor-walkers flying around like hens bereft of heads, which, after all, are never of much use to either.  In spite of all, here we are, mamma, ready for a cup of your good tea and other fixin’s.  Now, Millie, it’s your turn.  I’ve let off enough steam to be safe till after supper.  Have you made cruel enemies to-day, from whom you desire my protection?”

“No, Belle,” said Mildred, laughing; “I haven’t your force and brilliancy, and have made but a humdrum beginning.  I was so stupid at one counter that they transferred me to another, and I’m glad of it, for laces are pretty, and taking care of them wouldn’t seem like drudgery at all.  Best of all, it’s near the door, and every customer will give me a sustaining breath.”

“Millie is standing it capitally for a beginner,” Belle remarked, with the air of a veteran, as Mildred eagerly drank her cup of tea and asked for more.  “I was so tired the first night that it seemed as if I could scarcely swallow a mouthful.”

Thus they carried out the little ruse, careful not to exaggerate, for Mrs. Jocelyn’s intuitions were quick.

As it was she looked at her child with many misgivings, but she tried for their sakes to be cheerful, and praised the courage and spirit of both the girls, assuring them that they showed their true Southern blood, and that they reminded her of their father when, during his brief visits, he talked over the long, hard campaigns.

At last they were in the privacy of their own room, and Mildred, as if she were the weaker and younger, buried her face on her sister’s shoulder and sobbed despairingly, “Oh, Belle, you are the stronger.  I fear I can’t stand it at all.  I’ve suffered more to-day than in all my life, and my feet and back still ache—­oh, I can’t tell you.”

The child soothed and comforted her, and said she had suffered just the same at first, and often still she felt that if she could not sit down for a few moments she would drop down; “but there, Millie,” she concluded, with the best philosophy the case admitted of, “you get used to it gradually—­you can get used to anything.”