s, with hostlers sitting up
nights for them, and the world and all its business "seeing how it
could get along without them;" she was proud of all this crowd of
business that had, by hook or by crook (literally, now), to be done.

She wanted the evening paper the minute it came. She and the music
mistress took the "Transcript" between them, and had the first
reading weeks about. This was her week; she held herself lucky.

The epizootic was like the war: we should have to subside into
common items that would not seem like news at all when that was
over.

We all know, now, what the news was after the epizootic.

Meanwhile Aunt Blin believed, "on her conscience," she had got the
epidemic herself.

Bel had worked hard at the rooms this week, and late at home in the
evenings. Some of the girls lived out at the Highlands, and some in
South Boston; there were days when they could not get in from these
districts; for such as were on the spot there was double press and
hurry. And it was right in the midst of fall and winter work. Bel
earned twelve dollars in six days, and got her pay.

On Saturday night she brought home four Chater's crumpets, and a
pint of oysters. She stewed the oysters in a porringer out of which
everything came nicer than out of any other utensil. While they were
stewing, she made a bit of butter up into a "pat," and stamped it
with the star in the middle of the pressed glass saltcellar; she set
the table near the fire, and laid it out in a specially dainty way;
then she toasted the muffins, and it was past seven o'clock before
all was done.

Aunt Blin sat by, and watched and smelled. She was in no hurry; two
senses at a time were enough to have filled. She had finished the
paper,--it was getting to be an old and much rehashed story,
now,--and had sent it down to Miss Smalley. It would be hers first,
now, for a week. Very well, the excitement was over. That was all
she knew about it.

In the privacy and security of her own room, and with muffins and
oysters for tea, Aunt Blin took out her upper teeth, that she might
eat comfortably. Poor Aunt Blin! she showed her age and her thinness
so. She had fallen away a good deal since she had been sick. But
she was getting better. On Monday morning, she thought she would
certainly be able to go out. All she had to do now was to be careful
of her cough; and Bel had just bought her a new pair of rubbers.

Bartholomew had done his watching and smelling, likew