t, too,
she laid reverently within its wrapper.

Next came a bit of pasteboard whereon was inscribed, "Mrs. Merrill Wilton
Bailey, Rittenhouse Square, Tuesdays." That she knew was her grandmother's
name, though she had never seen the card before--her father's mother. She
looked at the card in wonder. It was almost like a distant view of the
lady in question. What kind of a place might Rittenhouse Square be, and
where was it? There was no telling. It might be near that wonderful Desert
of Sahara that the man had talked about. She laid it down with a sigh.

There was only one paper left, and that was a letter written in pale
pencil lines. It said:

"_My dear Bessie:_ Your pa died last week. He was killed falling
from a scaffold. He was buried on Monday with five carriages and
everything nice. We all got new black dresses, and have enough
for a stone. If it don't cost too much, we'll have an angle on
the top. I always thought an angle pointing to heaven was nice.
We wish you was here. We miss you very much. I hope your husband
is good to you. Why don't you write to us? You haven't wrote
since your little girl was born. I s'pose you call her Bessie
like you. If anything ever happens to you, you can send her to
me. I'd kind of like her to fill your place. Your sister has
got a baby girl too. She calls her Lizzie. We couldn't somehow
have it natural to call her 'Lizabeth, and Nan wanted her called
for me. I was always Lizzie, you know. Now you must write soon.

"Your loving mother,
ELIZABETH BRADY."

There was no date nor address to the letter, but an address had been
pencilled on the outside in her mother's cramped school-girl hand. It was
dim but still readable, "Mrs. Elizabeth Brady, 18---- Flora Street,
Philadelphia."

Elizabeth studied the last word, then drew out the envelope again, and
looked at that. Yes, the two names were the same. How wonderful! Perhaps
she would sometime, sometime, see him again, though of course he belonged
to the lady. But perhaps, if she went to school and learned very fast, she
might sometime meet him at church--he went to church, she was sure--and
then he might smile, and not be ashamed of his friend who had saved his
life. Saved his life! Nonsense! She had not done much. He would not feel
any such ridiculous indebtedness to her when he got back to home and
friends and