to Pilgrim Street, and
found her; and now, in this November when every machine girl in
Boston was thrown back upon her savings, or her friends, or the
public contribution, she was tucking up little short dresses for
Stephen, whom Rosamond, according to the family tradition, called
resolutely by his name, and whom she would, at five months old, put
into the freedom of frocks, "in which he could begin to feel himself
a little human being, and not a tadpole."

Dot helped in the kitchen, too; but this was a home kitchen. She
became one of themselves, for whatever there was to be done.
Especially she took triumphant care of Rosamond's stand of plants,
which, under her quickly recognized touch and tending, rushed
tumultuously into a green splendor, and even at this early winter
time, showed eager little buds of bloom, of all that could bloom.

They had books and loud reading over their work. Everything got
done, and there were leisure hours again. Dot earned four dollars a
week, and once a fortnight went home and spent a Sunday with her
mother.

All went blessedly at the Horse Shoe; but there is not a Horse Shoe
everywhere. It is always a piece of luck to find one.

Desire Ledwith knew that; so she held her peace about it for a
while, among these girls to whom Bel Bree was preaching her crusade.
All they knew was that Dot Ingraham and her machine were gone away
into a family eighteen miles from Boston.

"If _you_ find anything for me to do, Miss Ledwith, I'll do it,"
said Kate Sencerbox. "But I won't go into one of those offices, nor
off into the country for the winter. I want to keep something to
hold on to,--not run out to sea without a rope."

Desire did not propose advertising, as she had done to Dot; she
would let Kate wait a week. A week in the new condition of things
might teach her a good deal.

CHAPTER XXVI.

TROUBLE AT THE SCHERMANS'.

There was trouble in Mrs. Frank Scherman's pretty little household.

The trouble was, it did not stay little. Baby Karen was only six
weeks old, and Marmaduke was only three years; great, splendid
fellow though he was at that, and "galumphing round,"--as his mother
said, who read nonsense to Sinsie out of "Wonderland," and the
"Looking Glass,"--upon a stick.

Of course she read nonsense, and talked nonsense,--the very happiest
and most reckless kind,--in her nursery; this bright Sin Scherman,
who "had lived on nonsense," she declared, "herself, until she was
tw