"

Maggie's narrow eyes grew wide. Maggie's sallow face flushed. There
came a wild commotion in her heart--a real, genuine sense of downright
love for the girl who had done this thing for her. And ten pounds,
which meant so very little to Merry Cardew, held untold possibilities
for Maggie.

"You will hurt me frightfully if you refuse," said Merry.

Maggie trembled from head to foot. Suppose, by any chance, it got to
Aneta's ears that she had taken this money from Merry; suppose it got
abroad in the school! Oh, she dared not take it! she must not!

"What is it, Maggie? Why don't you speak?" said Merry, looking at her
in astonishment.

"I love you with all my heart and soul," said Maggie; "but I just
can't take the money."

"Oh Maggie! but why?"

"I can't, dear; I can't. It--it would not be right. You mustn't lower
me in my own estimation. I should feel low down if I took your money.
I know well I am poor, and so is dear mother, and the lodgings are
fusty and musty, but we are neither of us so poor as that. I'll never
forget that you brought it to me, and I'll love you just more than I
have ever done; but I can't take it."

"Do come on, Maggie!" shouted Jackdaw. "Fanciful is dying for his
breakfast; and as to Peterkins, he has got Spot-ear out of his cage.
Peterkins is crying like anything, and his tears are dropping on
Spot-ear, and Spot-ear doesn't like it. Do come on!"

"Yes, yes; I am coming," said Maggie--"Good-bye, darling Merry. My
best thanks and best love."

That evening, or in the course of the afternoon, Maggie appeared at
Shepherd's Bush. She had been obliged to travel third-class, and the
journey was hot and dusty.

She lay back against the cushions with a tired feeling all over her.
For a time she had been able to forget her poverty. Now it had fully
returned to her, and she was not in the mood to be good-natured. There
was no need to show any charm or any kindliness to her neighbors, who,
in their turn, thought her a disagreeable, plain girl, not worth any
special notice.

It was, therefore, by no means a prepossessing-looking girl who ran up
the high flight of steps which belonged to that lodging-house in
Shepherd's Bush where Mrs. Howland was staying. Maggie knew the
lodgings well, although she had never spent much time there. As a
rule, she contrived to spend almost all her holidays with friends;
but on this occasion her mother had sent for her in a very summary
manner; and, although Mag