o right
nor left but staring straight at the pile of smoking corn-meal cakes
trickling molasses on her tin plate. She was counting: "One, two, three,
four, five," and the prospect of more; for on treat nights, which
occurred once a week, there was no stinting with corn-meal cakes, hulled
corn, apple sauce with fried bread or whatever else might be provided
for the three hundred orphans at the Asylum on ----nd Street, in the
great city of New York.

Freckles grew nervous as she watched. What _was_ Flibbertigibbet doing?
Her fingers were busy untying the piece of red mohair tape with which
her heavy braid was fastened in a neat loop. She put it around her
apron, tying it fast; then, blousing the blue denim in front to a pouch
like a fashion-plate shirt waist, she said in an undertone to her
neighbor on the right:

"Gee--look! Ain't I got the style?"

"I ain't a-goin' ter look at yer, yer so pizen mean--dirt ain't in it,"
said 206 contemptuously, and sat sideways at such an angle that she
could eat her cakes without seeing the eyesore next her.

"Stop crowdin'!" was the next command from the bloused bit of "style" to
her neighbor on the left. Her sharp elbow emphasized her words and was
followed by a solid thigh-to-thigh pressure that was felt for the length
of at least five girls down the bench. The neighbor on the left found
she could not withstand the continued pressure. She raised her hand.

"What is the trouble with 205?" The voice from the head of the table was
one of controlled impatience.

"Please 'um--"; but she spoke no further word, for the pressure was
removed so suddenly that she lost her balance and careened with such
force towards her torment of a neighbor that the latter was fain to put
her both arms about her to hold her up. This she did so effectually that
205 actually gasped for breath.

"I'll pinch yer black an' blue if yer tell!" whispered Flibbertigibbet,
relaxing her hold and in turn raising her hand.

"What's wanting now, 208?"

"A second helpin', please 'um."

The tin round was passed up to the nickel-plated receptacle, that
resembled a small bathtub with a cover, and piled anew. Flibbertigibbet
viewed its return with satisfaction, and Freckles, who had been watching
every move of this by-play, suddenly doubled up from her plastered
position against the wall. She saw Flibbertigibbet drop the cakes quick
as a flash into the low neck of her apron, and at that very minute they
were reposi