"Mebbe."

"It's to take this paper to Reed's store on G Street, and bring home the things the clerk will give you. If you will I'll give you an orange when you come back."

The child's eyes brightened.

"I'll go," she said. "Ma's down-stairs, and I'm minding the baby, but I'll call her."

"Thank you," said Sara, and ran back to her charge.

She was glad to see that the pale face on the pillow did not look so deathly now, and the blue shadows had nearly disappeared. She even smiled with some brightness, and her grateful eyes followed Sara about the room. A breeze had arisen, and was blowing refreshingly through the window, and the latter gladly seated herself where she could catch it all.

"You look better," she remarked, as she returned the sick girl's smile; "tell me, Bertha, was it from hunger that you fainted? I am your friend and want to help you."

"Yes, it was. I haven't eaten since--what day is this?"

"Sat.u.r.day; it is now about five o'clock."

"Then it was yesterday morning. I had a piece of bread about as large as my palm."

"And nothing since?"

"Not a crumb."

Sara shuddered.

"Poor, poor girl! How did you come to such want?" tears of pity filling her sweet eyes.

Bertha gazed at her wonderingly.

"How did you know me?" she asked. "What makes you care?"

"I know your name because you gave it when you first came out of your faint, and how could I help caring? You are pretty near my own age, I think."

"I'm twenty-two."

"Then you are a little the older. Bertha, have you a mother?"

She shook her head sadly.

"No, I haven't anybody; it would have been better, I say. What can a girl do all alone in this great, wicked world?"

"Tell me about it, Bertha; perhaps I can help you."

No one could resist that tone; and Bertha, after one long look into the sympathetic face, drew a sigh and began.

"We were always poor, but not to real want. Father had a small farm, and we lived off from it till he died. Then it all went for debts and funeral expenses, and we took what little was left, mother and I, and came here. We managed to live while she was alive. She took in sewing, and I worked in Ball's factory, and we were as cosey as could be in our one room; but last winter she died."

Her eyes filled with tears, and she stopped a moment, then went on.

"The factory turned off a third of its hands in May, and I with them.

I've tried everything since, but I'm not strong enough for many kinds of work. If I could only stand housework I could find plenty to do, but the heavy part is too much for me; twice I've broken down, lost my place, and had to use all the wages I'd saved up for doctor's bills. A second girl's work I could do, but it's difficult to get into those aristocratic houses, unless you have friends and recommends, especially in summer, when so many are closed while the families are away.

"I've done shop-work, and indeed a little of everything; but for a week I haven't had a thing, and I was reduced to my last crumb. I knew, if I couldn't pay for my room to-night, I'd be turned into the street, so for two days I've walked and walked, hunting for work, till I actually dropped, as you see. There's one thing, though," with sudden fire, "I've kept straight! If I had been really dead, as I for a moment thought, I would not have been afraid to meet my mother. But it's been a hard struggle! Do you wonder I was sorry when I found you weren't a real angel, and heaven was still far away?"

Sara, her eyes filled with tears, was about to answer, when Nora Maloney appeared at the door with her bundles.

"I've got 'em, mum!" she cried, and at sight of her bright face both girls smiled again.

"That's my good girl!" was Sara's approving comment; "and here, didn't I promise you something?"

"Yes'm," her eyes snapping, "an orange."

Sara opened a package, and took out two.

"What will you do with this, if I'll give it to you?" pointing to the extra one.

"I'll hide 'em both till pa gets away, an' then I'll divvy up with Nan and Jack, and Ma and baby," was the ready answer.

Sara handed over the two yellow globes.

"That's right! I'm glad you're such a generous little girl, and I am much obliged to you for doing the errand. Good-by."

"Good-by'm; thankee mum!" was Nora's hearty answer, as she hurried home to show her treasures, before it should be necessary to hide them from the father whom drink had transformed into a brute; to be avoided if possible, and if not, to be fed and cajoled, then, if still implacable, fled from in terror as from any other ferocious, untamable beast.

Sara took from the bundles oranges, grapes, biscuit, and sliced ham, the sick girl watching her, meanwhile, with eyes that grew brighter every moment.

"Now we'll have supper together," said Sara, arranging them neatly on the little stand; "for I'm getting hungry too, and while we're eating, we'll talk things over. That tea and toast will do for first course, try this bunch of grapes and the sandwich I am fixing for the second."

Bertha took them with a delighted air.

"Oh, how good! We used to have grapes at home; and father always cured his own hams. I was never really hungry in my life till nowadays. We've always been poor, and sometimes I didn't have any best dress, but there was never any lack of food. Do you know"--solemnly--"it's an awful thing to get so hungry? I could have stolen--murdered almost--for food, only I didn't dare touch anything for fear of jail. All my ideas of right and wrong were confused, and for the time I was more of a wild beast than any thing else--oh, it was dreadful!"

Sara gently touched the thin hand.

"Poor girl!" she murmured, "I know something of it too!" then aloud, "Bertha, how would the place of a companion suit you?"

"A companion?"

"Yes, to an invalid lady. I know of a Mrs. Searle who needs one. She is rich, and ought to pay well; but she would want somebody who could read intelligibly--and I suspect it would require infinite patience to put up with her whims."

"I haven't a bad temper," said Bertha simply; "and I used to read aloud to mother while she was sewing--we both of us liked books. How I wish she would try me!"

"Perhaps she will; at any rate, you shall be looked after in some way. I am poor, myself, but I'm sure our circle will see that you find work. Do you know what the 'King's Daughters' are?"

"I've heard of them, but you're the first I ever met. If they're all like you, the Lord must be proud to own them."

The sincere, almost childish, tone in which these words were said divested them of any irreverence. Sara merely smiled, as she told Bertha some of their aims and practices; and when Mrs. Pierce returned, she was astonished to see her patient sitting up in bed, with almost a flush on her cheeks, and a glad light in her eyes.

"Lawful suz!" she cried in the doorway, "what have you done to her?"