me wear that suit of yours that you are
so choice of."

Olga was silent. It was true that Sonia's chance of securing employment
would be small if she sought it in the shabby clothes which she had. But
Olga needed that suit. The money which would have bought a new one had
paid her doctor's bill. Still--the important thing was to get Sonia to
work. "I suppose," she said slowly, "I shall have to let you wear it,
but, Sonia, you _must_ realise how it is, and do your best to find a
place soon. Will you do that?"

"Why, of course," returned Sonia with the light laugh that always
irritated her sister. "You don't suppose I like being dependent on you,
do you?"

"I don't think you'd mind, if I would give you money whenever you want
it."

Again Sonia laughed. "But that's not imaginable, you know," she answered
airily. "It's like drawing eyeteeth to get a dollar out of you. You're a
perfect miser, Olga Priest."

Olga let that pass. "I had intended to keep my suit in Lizette's closet
after this, but I will leave it here if you will promise to begin
to-morrow to look for work. Will you promise?"

"You certainly are the limit!" Sonia cried impatiently. "I believe you
grudge me every mouthful I eat, and the baby her milk too--poor little
soul!" She caught up the baby and kissed it.

"Will you promise, Sonia?" Olga repeated.

Sonia dropped the baby on her lap again. "Of _course_ I promise. I told
you so before. Now for pity's sake give me a little peace!" she
exclaimed.

XVIII

THE TORCH UPLIFTED

So the next day Olga brought home her work, and Sonia, wearing not only
her sister's best suit but her hat, shoes, and gloves as well, set off
down town. She departed with a distinctly holiday air, tossing from the
doorway a kiss to the baby and a good-bye to Olga. But Olga cherished
small hope of her success. She felt no confidence in her sister's
sincerity, and did not believe that she really wanted to find work.

For once the baby was awake--usually she seemed half asleep, lying where
she was put, and only stirring occasionally with weak whimpering cries.
But this morning the blue eyes were open, and Olga stopped beside the
chair in which the baby was lying and looked down at the small face, so
pathetically grave and quiet.

"You poor little mortal," she said, "I wonder what life holds for
you--if you live. I almost hope you won't, for it doesn't seem as if
there's much chance for you."

The solemn blue eyes st