y lasts
thirty weeks--a little over half a year, and so you must divide a
girl's salary in two to find what she makes in a year's time. You and
I, in the candy store, are making more money than a girl who gets three
times the money a week on the stage, for we have a whole year of work,
and we don't have to go to manicures and modistes and hairdressers two
or three times a week."

"Well, I wish we did!" retorted Lorna petulantly. "There's no romance
in you, Mary. You're just humdrum and old-fashioned and narrow. Think
of the beautiful costumes, and the lights, the music, the applause of
thousands! Oh, it must be wonderful to thrill an audience, and have
hundreds of men worshiping you, and all that, Mary."

Her sister's eyes filled with tears as she turned away.

"Go on with your book, Lorna," she murmured. "Maybe some day you'll
read one which will teach you that old fashions are not so bad, that
there's romance in home and that the true, decent love of one man is a
million times better than the applause, and the flowers, and the
flattery of hundreds. I've read such books."

"Hum!" sniffed Lorna, "I don't doubt it. Written by old maids who
could never attract a man, nor look pretty themselves. Well, none of
the girls I know bother with such books: there are too many lively ones
written nowadays. Call me when supper is ready, for I'm hungry."

And she adjusted her curls before flouncing into the bedroom to lose
herself in the adventures of the patchouli heroine.

It was a quiet evening at the Barton home. The father was too
engrossed to give more than abstracted heed, even to the appetizing
meal. Mary forbore to interrupt his thoughts about the new machine.
She felt a hesitation about narrating the afternoon's adventures of
Bobbie Burke to Lorna, for the girl seemed estranged and eager only for
the false romance of her novel. With Henrietta, Mary discussed the
opportunities for work in the great city, already overcrowded with
struggling girls. So convincing was she, the country lass decided that
she would take the train next morning back to the little town where she
could be safe from the excitement and the dangers of the city lure.

"I reckon I'm a scared country mouse," she declared. "But I'm old
enough to know a warning when I get one. The Lord didn't intend me to
be a city girl, or he wouldn't have given me this lesson to-day. I've
got my old grand dad up home, and there's Joe Mills, who is for