ss, slipshod, kindly, Irish
Kate. Before she went to church, she slipped into the kitchen and
insisted upon her accepting fifteen dollars to get herself some clothes
before the next Sunday. And when Kate flatly refused to take the
money, she developed a curious resourcefulness. She declared that
unless she took it, she should go to her uncle and ask him to inquire
into the question of her unpaid wages. And Kate succumbed.

After service, Elsie sat down to write to Elsie Moss. She didn't say
anything she had meant to say. She knew she ought at least to give her
some intimation of the situation, lest the other should be wholly
unprepared and enter perhaps upon some course that must be rudely
interrupted by the end of another week. But she wasn't clever enough
for that.

She spoke of the place and the people and how much she liked them. She
told of the three afternoons in the library, and remembering how the
other had taken to the children on the train, tried, in her stiff,
constrained way, to describe little Mattie Howe, who minded the baby
all his waking hours and read a Prudy book a day.

She couldn't even mention Mrs. Middleton. She spoke freely of Elsie's
uncle--almost enthusiastically, indeed--told how he had asked if she
had toothache, and signed herself, rather abruptly, "Your loving
friend, Elsie M----."

The following morning she found a letter on her plate. She had gone by
the name of Moss nearly a week, yet it gave her a start to see the
address and to break open the envelope.

It was a bright, amusing letter, as informal as her own had been stiff.
Elsie Moss found Cousin Julia no end jolly, a perfect brick. The
boarding-house was the most interesting place she had ever known, and
the people just right; and though New York was stifling she loved it,
and wasn't the least in a hurry to get to the shore. She expected very
soon to confide her ambition to Miss Pritchard--honestly, she was so
dear and splendid, that it was the greatest wonder that she hadn't told
her she wanted to be an actress before they left the Grand Central
Station. . . .

"I'm simply perishing to hear from you, Elsie-Honey," the letter
concluded. "Uncle's a darling saint, I know, but you must tell me
about Aunt Milly so I can describe her to my stepmother. I sort of
glossed her over in this letter I enclose for you to forward so that it
will have the Enderby postmark. I came out strong on Uncle John and
the station at Bos