mind my own business," she said,
returning after a moment's absence, "but here is something I saw in the
_Gazette_. It might be worth trying."

Celia knew by heart the advertisement held out to her. "Work at home.
Fifteen dollars a week made with ease, etc." She accepted it meekly,
however, not wishing to hurt her friend's feelings.

"Talking about minding your own business," continued Miss Betty, "in my
experience it does not pay. I once saw Cousin Anne Gilpin looking at
taffeta at Moseley's, and I knew as well as I knew my name that the piece
she selected wouldn't wear. At first I thought I'd tell her; then I
decided it was none of my business,--Cousin Anne was old enough to know
about the quality of silk. And what do you think? She sent me a waist
pattern off it for a Christmas gift!"

Celia laughed as she rose to go. "Thank you for the cake, even if it isn't
a kindness. Mother will enjoy it," she said.

"You haven't noticed my hall paper," Miss Betty remarked, escorting her
visitor to the door. "I don't expect you to say it is pretty, for it
isn't. I have to confess wall paper is too much for me. This entry is so
small I could not put anything big and bright on it, so I thought I was
getting the very thing when I selected this,--and what does it look like?
Nothing in the world but a clean calico dress. Now it is done I see it
would have been better with plain paper."

"It is clean and unobtrusive," Celia agreed, smiling. Her smiles were a
little forced this morning, it was easy to see; and Miss Betty, laying a
kind hand on her arm, said, "Don't worry too much, Celia. I know something
about hard times, and you will work through after a while."

Celia felt the tears rising, and she left Miss Betty with an abruptness
that made her ashamed of herself as she recalled it. After the exertion
of climbing the hill she stopped to rest on the rustic seat just inside
her own gate. "I wonder," she asked herself, "if there is anything much
harder to bear than seeing a house you love going to ruin and not to be
able to save it."

A branch of the honeysuckle that twined about the gate-post touched her
shoulder, as if to remind her there was still some sweetness in life after
all; but she did not heed it, nor the rose vines and clematis which made
the old gray house beautiful in spite of needed repairs. Celia saw only
rotting woodwork and sagging steps. She thought how the flower garden had
been her father's pride, and how i