ad been waiting for that
young person for half an hour.

Flossy emerged from the adjoining tent.

"I am not going." she said. "I have turned nurse-girl, and have the
sweetest little baby in here that ever grew. Mrs. Adams is going in my
place. Mrs. Adams, Miss Erskine."

And as those two ladies walked away together Mrs. Adams might have been
heard to say:

"What a lovely, unselfish disposition your friend has! It was so
beautiful in her to take me so by storm this morning! I am afraid I was
very selfish; which is apt to be the case, I think, when one comes in
contact with actual unselfishness. It is one of the Christian graces
that is very hard to cultivate, anyway; don't you think so?"

Ruth was silent; not from discourtesy, but from astonishment. It was
such a strange experience to hear any one speak of Flossy Shipley as
"unselfish." In truth she had grown up under influences that had combined
to foster the most complete and tyrannical selfishness--exercised
in a pretty, winning sort of way, but rooted and grounded in her very
life. So indeed was Ruth's; but _she_, of course, did not know that,
though she had clear vision for the mote in Flossy's eyes.

Meantime Marion had staid her busy pen and was biting the end of it
thoughtfully. The two tents were such near neighbors that the latter
conversation and introduction had been distinctly heard. She glanced
around to the girl on the bed.

"Eurie," she said, "are you asleep, or are you enjoying Flossy's last
new departure?"

Eurie giggled.

"I heard," she said. "The lazy little mouse has slipped out of a
tedious hour, and has a chance to lounge and read a pleasant novel. I
dare say the mother is provided with them."

Then Marion, after another thoughtful pause:

"But, my child, how do you account for the necessity of going to the
neighbors and taking the supervision of a baby in order to do that?
Flossy need not have gone to church if she didn't choose."

"Yes she need. Don't you suppose the child can see that it is the
fashion of the place? She is afraid that it wouldn't look well to stay
in the tent and lounge, without an excuse for doing so. If that girl
could only go to a place where it was the fashion for all the people to
be good, she would be a saint, just because 'they' were."

"She would have to go to heaven," muttered Marion, going on with her
writing.

"And, according to you, there is no such place; so there is no hope for
her, after all. Oh