sult, but there was a distinct shrinking at a scene with
that flashing-eyed and heavy-browed mother of the child in such a
place as that. She would undoubtedly speak very loud. She expected
the volley of recrimination in a high treble which would follow the
announcement in that sweet little flute which she remembered so
well.

"Mamma, that is the lady who kept me, and would not let me go home."

But Ellen, after a second's innocent and startled regard, turned
away with no more recognition than if she had been a stranger. She
turned her little back to her, and looked at the doll-house. A great
flush flamed over Cynthia Lennox's face, and a qualm of mortal
shame. She took an impetuous glide forward, and was just about to
speak and tell the truth, whatever the consequences, and not be
outdone in magnanimity by that child, when a young girl with a
sickly but impudent and pretty face jostled her rudely. The utter
pertness of her ignorant youth knew no respect for even the rich
Miss Cynthia Lennox. "Here's your parcel, lady," she said, in her
rough young voice, its shrillness modified by hoarseness from too
much shouting for cash boys during this busy season, and she thrust,
with her absent eyes upon a gentleman coming towards her, a parcel
into Cynthia's hands. Somehow the touch of that parcel seemed to
bring Cynthia to her senses. It was a kodak which she had been
purchasing for the little boy who had lived with her, and whom it
had almost broken her heart to lose. She remembered what her friend
Lyman Risley had said, that it might make trouble for others besides
herself. She took her parcel with that involuntary meekness which
the proudest learn before the matchless audacity of youthful
ignorance when it fairly asserts itself, and passed out of the store
to her waiting carriage. Ellen saw her.

"That was Cynthia Lennox, wasn't it?" Fanny said, with something
like awe. "Wasn't that an elegant cloak she had on? I guess it was
Russian sable."

"I don't care if it was, it ain't a mite handsomer than my cape
lined with squirrel," said Mrs. Zelotes.

Ellen looked intently at a game on the counter. It was ten o'clock
when Ellen went home. She had been into all the principal stores
which were decorated for Christmas. Her brain resembled a
kaleidoscope as she hurried along at her mother's hand. Every
thought seemed to whirl the disk, and new and more dazzling
combinations appeared, but the principle which underlay the whole