r journey from Chicago to Philadelphia would fill a volume
if it were written, but it might pall upon the reader from the very
variety of its experiences. It was made slowly and painfully, with many
haltings and much lessening of the scanty store of money that had seemed
so much when she received it in the wilderness. The horse went lame, and
had to be watched over and petted, and finally, by the advice of a kindly
farmer, taken to a veterinary surgeon, who doctored him for a week before
he finally said it was safe to let him hobble on again. After that the
girl was more careful of the horse. If he should die, what would she do?

One dismal morning, late in November, Elizabeth, wearing the old overcoat
to keep her from freezing, rode into Philadelphia.

Armed with instructions from the old lady in Chicago, she rode boldly up
to a policeman, and showed him the address of the grandmother to whom she
had decided to go first, her mother's mother. He sent her on in the right
direction, and in due time with the help of other policemen she reached
the right number on Flora Street.

It was a narrow street, banked on either side by small, narrow brick
houses of the older type. Here and there gleamed out a scrap of a white
marble door-step, but most of the houses were approached by steps of dull
stone or of painted wood. There was a dejected and dreary air about the
place. The street was swarming with children in various stages of the
soiled condition.

Elizabeth timidly knocked at the door after being assured by the
interested urchins who surrounded her that Mrs. Brady really lived there,
and had not moved away or anything. It did not seem wonderful to the girl,
who had lived her life thus far in a mountain shack, to find her
grandmother still in the place from which she had written fifteen years
before. She did not yet know what a floating population most cities
contain.

Mrs. Brady was washing when the knock sounded through the house. She was a
broad woman, with a face on which the cares and sorrows of the years had
left a not too heavy impress. She still enjoyed life, oven though a good
part of it was spent at the wash-tub, washing other people's fine clothes.
She had some fine ones of her own up-stairs in her clothes-press; and,
when she went out, it was in shiny satin, with a bonnet bobbing with jet
and a red rose, though of late years, strictly speaking, the bonnet had
become a hat again, and Mrs. Brady was in style wi