s brimming with sorrow, murmured a prayer under his breath, for
gracious guidance for that new-claimed "will."

CHAPTER TEN

THE MAKING OF A COMPACT

At the end of the short railway journey, Mr. Eldred met the girls and
conducted them to the house where Mrs. Eldred waited with a
heart-warming welcome for her little guest.

It was a pretty home and Frieda felt the charm of it instantly as she
went up stairs with Hannah to the little square room which she was to
occupy. At the same time, however, she felt strange and out of place.
She was conscious of a contrast between her own hat and Hannah's,
between her heavy wool dress and Hannah's blue linen suit, between her
strong, serviceable--and ugly--shoes, and Hannah's pumps, also strong
and serviceable, but far from ugly. The six pieces of hand luggage and
the queer steamer trunk, when deposited in the center of the little
room, with its crisp ruffled curtains, and its plain mahogany furniture,
disturbed the harmony that had reigned before from the etching over the
bed to the bowl of ferns on the table. Hannah was friendly and beaming,
and not at all belligerent. Mrs. Eldred was all sweet, cheery
thoughtfulness, but Frieda looking at herself in the oval mirror of the
dressing-table, felt a sudden throb of pity for the girl she saw there.

Hannah helped her remove her thick jacket, tucked it and her hat away in
the closet, piled up the bags and asked for the trunk key.

"_Mutter hat uns immer gesagt, alles an seinen Ort zu legen_," she
said in a kind of chant. Frieda looked up, her eyes brightening with
fun.

"Mother always told us to gargle every morning and use plenty of
tooth-powder," she said, and Hannah shrieked with glee.

"O, have you been learning English out of that ridiculous Edith and Mary
book, too? I hoped you would have it, and we can do beautiful dialogues
in German and English. I've always wanted to, but I never knew any one
who could do the responses. I'll be Edith and you can be Mary."

Mrs. Eldred came in as Hannah flung the lid of the trunk back. Frieda's
fun died away as she reached into a little pocket and took out a letter.

"It's for you, Tante Edith," she said, holding it as though she loved
it. "It's from my mother--" and the tears came into her eyes as she said
the word. Mrs. Eldred and Hannah exchanged glances of understanding, and
Hannah caught up the water pitcher.

"I'll get this full of warm water for you," she said briskly,