work, and sewing away with an energy that made the gray curls
vibrate.
“Saint Mehitable, I call her. Now, there is a rich woman who knew
how to get happiness out of her money,” said Polly, as they walked
away. “She was poor till she was nearly fifty; then a comfortable
fortune was left her, and she knew just how to use it. That house
was given her, but instead of living in it all alone, she filled it with
poor gentlefolks who needed neat, respectable homes, but could n’t
get anything comfortable for their little money. I ‘m one of them,
and I know the worth of what she does for me. Two old widow
ladies live below me, several students overhead, poor Mrs. Kean
and her lame boy have the back parlor, and Jenny the little
bedroom next Miss Mills. Each pays what they can; that ‘s
independent, and makes us feel better but that dear woman does a
thousand things that money can’t pay for, and we feel her influence
all through the house. I ‘d rather be married, and have a home of
my own; but next to that, I should like to be an old maid like Miss
Mills.”
Polly’s sober face and emphatic tone made Fanny laugh, and at the
cheery sound a young girl pushing a baby-carriage looked round
and smiled.
What lovely eyes!” whispered Fanny.
Yes, that ‘s little Jane,” returned Polly, adding, when she had
passed, with a nod and a friendly “Don’t get tired, Jenny,” “we help
one another at our house, and every fine morning Jenny takes
Johnny Kean out when she goes for her own walk. That gives his
mother time to rest, does both the children good, and keeps things
neighborly. Miss Mills suggested it, and Jenny is so glad to do
anything for anybody, it ‘s a pleasure to let her.”
“I ‘ve heard of Miss Mills before. But I should think she would get
tired to death, sitting there making hoods and petticoats day after
day,” said Fanny, after thinking over Jenny’s story for a few
minutes, for seeing the girl seemed to bring it nearer, and make it
more real to her.
“But she don’t sit there all the time. People come to her with their
troubles, and she goes to them with all sorts of help, from soap and
soup, to shrouds for the dead and comfort for the living. I go with
her sometimes, and it is more exciting than any play, to see and
hear the lives and stories of the poor.”
“How can you bear the dreadful sights and sounds, the bad air, and
the poverty that can’t be cured?”
“But it is n’t all dreadful. There are good and lovely things among
them, if one only has eyes to see them. It makes me grateful and
contented, shows me how rich I am, and keeps me ready to do all I
can for these poor souls.”
“My good Polly!” and Fanny gave her friends arm an affectionate
squeeze, wondering if it was this alone that had worked the change
in Polly.
“You have seen two of my new friends, Miss Mills and Jenny, now
I ‘ll show you two more,” said Polly, presently, as they reached a
door, and she led the way up several flights of public stairs.
“Rebecca Jeffrey is a regularly splendid girl, full of talent; she
won’t let us call it genius; she will be famous some day, I know,
she is so modest, and yet so intent on her work. Lizzie Small is an
engraver, and designs the most delightful little pictures. Becky and
she live together, and take care of one another in true Damon and
Pythias style. This studio is their home, they work, eat, sleep, and
live here, going halves in everything. They are all alone in the
world, but as happy and independent as birds; real friends, whom
nothing will part.”
“Let a lover come between them, and their friendship won’t last
long,” said Fanny.
“I think it will. Take a look at them, and you ‘ll change your mind,”
answered Polly, tapping at a door, on which two modest cards