at, and by making her feel at
home."

"Well, sure," said Lily, and smiled again her heart-warming smile.
"I'd love to."

"Miss Orton-Wells," went on Emma smoothly, "wants to speak to the girls
about clothes."

Lily looked again at Miss Orton-Wells, and she did not mean to be
cruel. Then she looked quickly at Emma, to detect a possible joke.
But Mrs. Buck's face bore no trace of a smile.

"Clothes!" repeated Lily. And a slow red mounted to Gladys
Orton-Wells' pale face. When Lily went out Sunday afternoons, she might
have passed for a millionaire's daughter if she hadn't been so well
dressed.

"Suppose you take Miss Orton-Wells into the shop," suggested Emma, "so
that she may have some idea of the size and character of our family
before she speaks to it. How long shall you want to speak?"

Miss Orton-Wells started nervously, stammered a little, stopped.

"Oh, ten minutes," said Mrs. Orton-Wells graciously.

"Five," said Gladys, quickly, and followed Lily Bernstein into the
workroom.

Mrs. Orton-Wells and Miss Susan H. Croft gazed after them.

"Rather attractive, that girl, in a coarse way," mused Mrs.
Orton-Wells. "If only we can teach them to avoid the cheap and tawdry.
If only we can train them to appreciate the finer things in life. Of
course, their life is peculiar. Their problems are not our problems;
their----"

"Their problems are just exactly our problems," interrupted Emma
crisply. "They use garlic instead of onion, and they don't bathe as
often as we do; but, then, perhaps we wouldn't either, if we hadn't
tubs and showers so handy."

In the shop, queer things were happening to Gladys Orton-Wells. At her
entrance into the big workroom, one hundred pairs of eyes had lifted,
dropped, and, in that one look, condemned her hat, suit, blouse, veil
and tout ensemble. When you are on piece-work you squander very little
time gazing at uplift visitors in the wrong kind of clothes.

Gladys Orton-Wells looked about the big, bright workroom. The noonday
sun streamed in from a dozen great windows. There seemed, somehow, to
be a look of content and capableness about those heads bent so busily
over the stitching.

"It looks--pleasant," said Gladys Orton-Wells.

"It ain't bad. Of course it's hard sitting all day. But I'd rather do
that than stand from eight to six behind a counter. And there's good
money in it."

Gladys Orton-Wells turned wistful eyes on friendly little Lily
Bernstein.

"I'd