out my age--eight and a half.
Well, if it wasn't for her, madame says she could go with some pupils to
their country-seat, and teach them all summer, but they will not have
her child, which is very hateful and disobliging, I think; and it popped
into my head that perhaps you would let us have Julie with us, for the
madame says she can not leave her alone in the city, and she has no
relatives--hardly any friends--and I think it would make madame so happy
not to lose this chance of giving lessons, and yet to have Julie,
and--and--"

Mamma stooped down and kissed her little girl. "There," she said, in her
quick, decisive way, "that will do. It was a kind thought, and I will
consider it. Now run off and dig in the garden; your seeds are coming up
nicely."

"But, mamma," said Quillie, not quite satisfied, "are you sure you won't
forget?"

"I promise not to," was the answer, and she arose to change the
coquettish cap and morning-gown for her street costume. Then she took
out her pencil, and jotted down two or three errands in her
memorandum-book, and gathering up the samples to match for Ellen's work,
out she went.

It was a warm day, a balmy air, but one which induces languor, and as
Mrs. Coit stopped at a street corner and bought a bunch of roses, she
thought she would get the children out of town as soon as possible. Her
eye was next attracted by some exquisite laces. She wanted a few yards,
and stopped to price them. They were thread, filmy as cobwebs; they were
costly; and as she held them in her hand, debating the purchase, she
thought of Quillie's request: the cost of the lace would more than meet
the expense of sending little Julie away. She concluded not to buy the
laces. And so she went on with her errands.

At last she had finished, and turned off into a side street, got into a
car, and was whisked away to a quiet place in the old part of the city.
She stopped before a house which had in its day been fine; now it looked
like a person who is keeping up appearances--a little shabby and worn,
and wanting freshness. She rang the bell, and asked if Madame Garnier
lived there. She was directed by a slovenly maid to a room on an upper
floor, and left there. The air was redolent of garlic. She knocked at
the door, and a little pattering of feet was heard, the door was opened
on a crack, and a small head was to be seen, covered with a tiny
handkerchief tied under the chin; a large checked apron concealed the
rest of