She leaned her head upon her ugly, old hand, and I asked: “Do you know her personally?” “Do I know her!” she snapped out at me. “Don’t she come here every once in a while? and sometimes she takes tea with me!” “Yes,” faintly murmured Mary, “and when she comes, a clean cloth goes on the table, and every boarder in the house who has ‘a past,’ keeps in his or her own room.” I smiled comprehendingly, while Mrs. Bulkley went on: “Do I know her? good Lord! haven’t I known her since I was a green girl in my early ’teens?” I was startled. Looking at her foxy, false front, her steel-bowed spectacles, her leathery skin, and the small framed platter she wore on her chest as a breast-pin, it was so hard to believe she had ever had any ‘’teens’ at all! “Yes,” she went on, “I know her, as my mother before me did. She worked for Mrs. Worden for more than eighteen years, and now she’s breaking up. Here, Hannah, make me some tea! You, oh, well, yes--you may make enough for us three, and bring it here. I feel all tuckered out.” And the old body did look worried and anxious. I was surprised, and I was grateful for her interest in Mrs. Worden, for whom I now had a real affection as well as a great pity. “Oh, Mrs. Bulkley!” I cried, “don’t be uneasy; Mrs. Worden seems quite as well as usual. She works as hard as ever, too, and she is very kind to me.” “There!” exclaimed Mrs. Bulkley, “that settles it! Myra Worden kind to anyone in her eighty-third year? She’s breaking; she’ll get the sign she’s been waiting for so long pretty soon, I reckon, poor thing!” I simply could not help putting the question: “Do you know, Mrs. Bulkley, why Mrs. Worden hates theatres so bitterly?” “Do I know, my Suz!--Oh, here’s the tea, and glad I am for it!”