e it up, you will have to leave where you are. Suppose
you come to me?"

"To you? My dear Mrs. Needham, it would be delightful."

"Would it? It is not a very magnificent appointment, I assure you. You
see, I have so much to do that I really _must_ have help. I had a girl
for three or four months. I gave her twenty-five pounds a year, and
thought she would be a great comfort, but she made a mess of my room and
my papers, and could not write a decent letter; besides, she was
discontented, so she left me, and I have been in a horrid muddle for the
last fortnight. Now if you like to come to me, while you are looking out
for something better, I am sure I shall be charmed, and will do all I
can to push you. It's a miserable sort of engagement, but there it is;
only I'll want you to come as soon as you can, for there are heaps to
do."

"Indeed I am delighted to be your help, or secretary, or whatever you
choose to call me, and as for looking for something better, if I can
only save enough to provide for the boys, I would rather work with you
for twenty-five pounds a year than any one else for--"

"For five hundred?" put in Mrs. Needham, with an indulgent smile, as she
paused.

"No, no. Five hundred a year is not to be lightly rejected," returned
Katherine, laughing. "But as I greatly doubt that I could ever be worth
five hundred a year to any one, I gladly accept twenty-five."

"Remember, I do not expect you to stay an hour after you find something
better. Now do me tell how matters stand with you."

Katherine therefore unbosomed herself, and among other things told how
well and faithfully Rachel Trant had behaved toward her, of the fatherly
kindness shown her by her old lawyer, and wound up by declaring that the
world could not be so bad a place as it is reckoned, seeing that in her
reverse of fortune she had found so much consideration. "Of course," she
concluded, "there are heaps of people who, once I drop from the ranks of
those who can enjoy and spend, will forget my existence; but I have no
right to expect more. They only want playfellows, not friends, and ask
no more than they give."

"Quite true, my young philosopher. Tell me, can you come on
Saturday--come to stay?"

"I fear not. Besides I have a superstition about entering on a new abode
on Saturday. Don't laugh! But I will come to-morrow, if you like, and
write and copy for you. I will come each day till Monday next, and so
help you to clear up."

"That