ood will and
generous sympathy. Into her room came soups and custards made by the best
cooks on the river. When she was well enough to see visitors the mothers
of Bear Cat came in person.

Through Melancthon Browning the landlady of the hotel shrewdly enlisted
the aid of the most influential women in the community. June needed
clothes. She had not a garment that was not worn out and ragged. But
Mollie recognized the fact that more than these she was in need of the
moral support of the settlers' wives. Mrs. Larson could give her work and
a home, but she could not give her that bulwark of her sex,
respectability. Mollie was an exception to an established rule. She was
liked and respected by other women in spite of her peculiarities. But
this would not be true of her protegee unless the girl was above
criticism. June must never step inside the bar or the gambling-room. She
must find friends among the other girls of the town and take part in
their social activities.

Wherefore Mollie, by timely suggestion, put it into the mind of the
preacher to propose a sewing-bee to his congregation. Tolliver, under
supervision, bought the goods and the women sewed. They made
underclothes, petticoats, nightgowns, and dresses. They selected from the
stock of Platt & Fortner shoes, stockings, and a hat, charging them to
the account of Pete.

It was on her sixteenth birthday that June was taken into an adjoining
room and saw all these treasures laid upon the bed. She did not at first
understand that the two pretty dresses and all the comfortable, well-made
clothes were for her. When this was made clear to her the tears brimmed
to the long-lashed eyes. The starved little Cinderella was greatly
touched. She turned to Mollie and buried her twitching face in a friendly
bosom.

"Now--now--now," Mollie reproved gently, stroking the dark crisp hair.
"This is no way to act, dearie, an' all the ladies so kind to you. You
want to thank 'em, don't you?"

"Yes, but--but--I--I--"

The smothered voice was tearful.

Mollie smiled at the committee. "I reckon she wants me to tell you for
her that she's plumb outa words to let you know how good she thinks
you-all are."

The black head nodded vigorously. "You're the _best_ folks--"

Mrs. Platt, a large and comfortable mother of seven, answered placidly.
"I expect you'll find, dearie, that most folks are good when you get on
the right side of them. Now you try on them clothes an' see if they fit.