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"There, I'm dead beat out, and I've brought it to you. You've just got to help me," she finished, sinking into a chair.

"Why, of course, if I can. But what is it?" Miss Maggie's deft fingers were already untying the knot.

"It's my old black silk. I'm making it over."

"AGAIN? But I thought the last time it couldn't ever be done again."

"Yes, I know; but there's lots of good in it yet," interposed Mrs. Jane decidedly; "and I've bought new velvet and new lace, and some buttons and a new lining. I THOUGHT I could do it alone, but I've reached a point where I just have got to have help. So I came right over."

"Yes, of course, but"—Miss Maggie was lifting a half-finished sleeve doubtfully—"why didn't you go to Flora? She'd know exactly—"

Mrs. Jane stiffened.

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"Because I can't afford to go to Flora," she interrupted coldly. "I have to pay Flora, and you know it. If I had the money I should be glad to do it, of course. But I haven't, and charity begins at home I think. Besides, I do go to her for NEW dresses. But this old thing—! Of course, if you don't WANT to help me—"

"Oh, but I do," plunged in Miss Maggie hurriedly. "Come out into the kitchen where we'll have more room," she exclaimed, gathering the bundle into her arms and springing to her feet.

"I've got some other lace at home—yards and yards. I got a lot, it was so cheap," recounted Mrs. Jane, rising with alacrity. "But I'm afraid it won't do for this, and I don't know as it will do for anything, it's so—"

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The kitchen door slammed sharply, and Mr. Smith heard no more. Half an hour later, however, he saw Mrs. Jane go down the walk. The frown was gone from her face and the droop from the corners of her mouth. Her step was alert and confident. She carried no bundle.

The next day it was Miss Flora. Miss Flora's thin little face looked more pinched than ever, and her eyes more anxious, Mr. Smith thought. Even her smile, as she acknowledged Mr. Smith's greeting, was so wan he wished she had not tried to give it.

She sat down then, by the window, and began to chat with Miss Maggie; and very soon Mr. Smith heard her say this:—

"No, Maggie, I don't know, really, what I am going to do—truly I don't. Business is so turrible dull! Why, I don't earn enough to pay my rent, hardly, now, ter say nothin' of my feed."

Miss Maggie frowned.

"But I thought that Hattie—ISN'T Hattie having some new dresses—and

Bessie, too?"

A sigh passed Miss Flora's lips.

"Yes, oh, yes; they are having three or four. But they don't come to ME any more. They've gone to that French woman that makes the Pennocks' things, you know, with the queer name. And of course it's all right, and you can't blame 'em, livin' on the West Side, as they do now. And, of course, I ain't so up ter date as she is. And just her name counts."