ng--you who have always had everything of the kind done for
you?"

"Oh, no; not everything," said Mona, smiling slightly. "I have always
loved to sew since I was a little child, and my nurse made me do
patchwork; and I assure you that I am quite an expert with my needle
in many ways."

"But to go out and make it a business! I cannot bear the thought! What
would your uncle say?" objected good Mr. Graves.

"I do not believe that Uncle Walter would wish me to be dependent upon
any one, if it was possible for me to take care of myself," Mona gravely
replied. "At all events," she continued, with a proud uplifting of her
pretty brown head, "I could never allow another to provide for my needs
without first trying my best to earn my own living--though, believe me,
I am very grateful for your kindness."

"You are a brave and noble girl, Mona, and I admire your spirit; but--I
have no daughter of my own, and, truly, both my wife and I would be glad
to have you come to us," Mr. Graves urged, regarding her anxiously.

"Thank you; it is very comforting to know that you are so kindly disposed
toward me, but I know that I shall respect myself more if I try to do
something for my own support," was the firm yet gentle response.

Mr. Graves sighed, for he well knew that this delicately reared girl had
a hard lot before her if she expected to earn her living as a sewing
girl.

"At least you will regard me as your stanch friend," he said, "and
promise me, Mona, that if you ever get into any difficulty you will
appeal to me; that if you should find that you have undertaken more than
your strength will allow you to carry out you will make my home your
refuge."

"Yes, I will," she said, tears of gratitude starting to her lovely eyes,
"and I am greatly comforted to know that I have one such true friend in
my trouble."

"What is the name of the family into which you are going?" her companion
inquired.

"I do not know, and it is a little singular that I do not," Mona replied,
smiling. "I applied at an employment bureau for a situation a few days
ago; yesterday I went to ascertain if there was a place for me and was
told that a lady living on West Forty-ninth street wanted a seamstress,
and I am to meet her at the office this afternoon. I, of course, asked
the name, but the clerk could not tell me--she had lost the lady's card,
and could only remember the street and number."

"Rather a careless way of doing business," the lawyer rema