hole of
Miss Bailey's jacket, and handed her a small white leather box. Inside
was a gem-encircled miniature--gorgeous and blazing as the sunshine
broke upon it. The gentle-faced Empress of all the Russias smiled sadly
out at Constance Bailey, and on the reverse, still in diamonds, was the
inscription: "For Service."

FRIENDS

"My mamma," reported Morris Mowgelewsky, choosing a quiet moment during
a writing period to engage his teacher's attention, "my mamma likes you
shall come on mine house for see her."

"Very well, dear," answered Miss Bailey with a patience born of many
such messages from the parents of her small charges. "I think I shall
have time to go this afternoon."

"My mamma," Morris began again, "she says I shall tell you 'scuse how
she don't sends you no letter. She couldn't to send no letter the while
her eyes ain't healthy."

"I am sorry to hear that," said Teacher, with a little stab of regret
for her prompt acceptance of Mrs. Mowgelewsky's invitation; for of all
the ailments which the children shared so generously with their teacher,
Miss Bailey had learned to dread most the many and painful disorders of
the eye. She knew, however, that Mrs. Mowgelewsky was not one of those
who utter unnecessary cries for help, being in this regard, as in many
others, a striking contrast to the majority of parents with whom Miss
Bailey came in contact.

To begin with, Mrs. Mowgelewsky had but one child--her precious, only
Morris. In addition to this singularity she was thrifty and neat,
intensely self-respecting and independent of spirit, and astonishingly
outspoken of mind. She neither shared nor understood the gregarious
spirit which bound her neighbors together and is the lubricant which
makes East Side crowding possible without bloodshed. No groups of
chattering, gesticulating matrons ever congregated in her Monroe Street
apartment. No love of gossip ever held her on street corners or on
steps. She nourished few friendships and fewer acquaintanceships, and
she welcomed no haphazard visitor. Her hospitalities were as serious as
her manner; her invitations as deliberate as her slow English speech.

And Miss Bailey, as she and the First Readers followed the order of
studies laid down for them, found herself, again and again, trying to
imagine what the days would be to Mrs. Mowgelewsky if her keen, shrewd
eyes were to be darkened and useless.

At three o'clock she set out with Morris, leaving the Boar