“It’s nothing to bother you with, Miss Beth. I didn’t mean to cry ever so little. It’s my little sister. When I think of her it hurts, and gymnasium and dancing days I have to think of her,” said Frieda, with a sudden sob at the end of her sentence. “What is it, Frieda? Is she one of those you just spoke of who isn’t like that?” coaxed Beth, so sympathetic that she adopted Frieda’s grammar. Frieda nodded. “She’s only nine years old, but she’s that lame she can’t walk only on crutches, and on them but a little way,” said Frieda. “How awful! What’s her name, poor, poor Frieda? Can’t any one make her well?” cried Beth, her own eyes overflowing. “Her name is Lotta, Miss Beth; we mostly call her Liebchen. It might be a great surgeon could cure her: the doctors told us it might be, but---- Well, Miss Beth, you know great surgeons come high, and there’s many more children besides little Liebchen,” said Frieda. “Tell Aunt Alida and my uncle!” cried Beth, her face lighting up with the conviction that nothing more would be necessary. Then, as Frieda shook her head, Beth cried: “Don’t you know they’d want to know it, Frieda, and help?” “I know people don’t want to be bothered with their servants’ troubles, Miss Beth. I wouldn’t take the liberty. My mother told me never to let the people I worked for see me look sad. She was at service, too, in her young days, in Germany. She knows; she worked for hochwohlgeboren dämen,” said Frieda proudly. “For what?” cried Beth. “Hochwohlgeboren--high-well-born ladies. That’s what you call them in Germany,” explained Frieda. In spite of her sympathy Beth’s laughter rang out. “To their faces?” she gasped. “Oh, Frieda, isn’t that funny! When all we say is just ‘noble ladies’! Well, but your mother didn’t know kind, dear, sweet Aunt Alida. And Uncle Jim! Look at all the things they’ve given me--and you to put them on for me! Of course they’ll have Liebchen cured! I shall tell them about her myself.” “Miss Beth, you mustn’t, really!” cried Frieda alarmed. “They might be angry with me for talking to you; they might think I told you about my sister to get you to ask them to help her, and as sure as I stand here I never thought of it! Please don’t tell them, Miss Beth dear. You don’t understand how life is here, yet. It might cost me my place to have told you about my family and got you interested. I can’t always get such a good place as this, Miss Beth--and I’d hate to leave you, if you’ll let me say that much.”