he change touches some of them rather
sharply. In some families they are treated with a thoughtful kindness,
in strong contrast with what they receive in other families. If
sensitive and retiring, they learn to be very chary about asking for
anything beyond what is conceded, and bear, rather than suggest or
complain."

"I've no patience with that kind of sensitiveness," replied Mrs. Lowe;
"it's simply ridiculous; and not only ridiculous, but wrong. Is every
sewing-girl who comes into your house to be treated like an honored
guest?"

"We are in no danger of erring, Mrs. Lowe," was answered, "on the side
of considerate kindness, even to sewing-women. They are human, and have
wants, and weaknesses, and bodily conditions that as imperatively
demand a timely and just regard as those of the most honored guest who
may sojourn with us. And what is more, as I hold, we cannot omit our
duty either to the one or to the other, and be blameless. But I must
hurry on. Good morning, Mrs. Lowe."

"Good morning," was coldly responded. And the two ladies parted.

We advance the time a few hours. It is nearly sundown, and the slant
beams are coming in through the partly-raised blinds, and falling on
the bed, where, white, and panting for the shortcoming breath, lies
Mary Carson, a little raised by pillows against which her head rests
motionless. Her eyes are shut, the brown lashes lying in two deep
fringes on her cheeks. Away from her temples and forehead the hair has
been smoothly brushed by loving hands, and there is a spiritual beauty
in her face that is suggestive of heaven. Mrs. Grant is on one side of
the bed, and the physician on the other. Both are gazing intently on
the sick girl's face. The door opens, and two ladies come in,
noiselessly--Mrs. Lowe and Mrs. Wykoff. They are strangers there to all
but Mary Carson, and she has passed too far on the journey homeward for
mortal recognitions. Mrs. Grant moves a little back from the bed, and
the two ladies stand in her place, leaning forward, with half-suspended
breathing. The almost classic beauty of Miss Carson's face; the
exquisite cutting of every feature; the purity of its tone--are all at
once so apparent to Mrs. Lowe that she gazes down, wonder and
admiration mingling with awe and self-accusation.

There is a slight convulsive cough, with a fleeting spasm. The white
lips are stained. Mrs. Lowe shudders. The stain is wiped off, and all
is still as before. Now the slanting su