mean thoughts" she put her arms
about Iola and kissed her warmly.

"Lovely! Nonsense!" she exclaimed, surprised at this display of
affection so unusual for Margaret, "I am not half so lovely as you. When
I see you at home here with all the things to worry you and the children
to care for, I think you are just splendid and I feel myself cheap and
worthless."

Margaret was conscious of a grateful glow in her heart.

"Indeed, my work doesn't amount to much, washing and dusting and
mending. Anybody could do it. No one would ever notice me. Wherever you
go the people just fall down and worship you." As she spoke she let
down her hair preparatory to brushing it. It fell like a cloud,
a golden-yellow cloud, about her face and shoulders. Iola looked
critically at her.

"You are beautiful," she said slowly. "Your hair is lovely, and your big
blue eyes, and your face has something, what is it? I can't tell you.
But I believe people would come to you in difficulty. Yes. That's it,"
she continued, with her eyes on Margaret's face, "I can please them in
a way. I can sing. Yes, I can sing. Some day I shall make people listen.
But suppose I couldn't sing, suppose I lost my voice, people would
forget me. They wouldn't forget you."

"What nonsense!" said Margaret brusquely. "It is not your voice alone;
it is your beauty and something I cannot describe, something in your
manner that is so fetching. At any rate, all the young fellows are daft
about you."

"But the women don't care for me," said Iola, with the same slow,
thoughtful voice. "If I wanted very much I believe I could make them.
But they don't. There's Mrs. Boyle, she doesn't like me."

"Now you're talking nonsense," said Margaret impatiently. "You ought to
have heard old Mrs. Fallows this evening."

"Now," continued Iola, ignoring her remark, "the women all like you, and
the men, too, in a way."

"Don't talk nonsense," said Margaret impatiently. "When you're around
the boys don't look at me."

"Yes, they do," said Iola, as if pondering the question. "Ben does."

Margaret laughed scornfully. "Ben likes my jelly."

"And Dick does," continued Iola, "and Barney." Here she shot a keen
glance at Margaret's face. Margaret caught the glance, and, though
enraged at herself, she could not prevent a warm flush spreading over
her fair cheek and down her bare neck.

"Pshaw!" she cried angrily, "those boys! Of course, they like me. I've
known them ever since I was a baby. Wh