"Well, now, I'm real sorry." Miss Upton's hearty sincerity was a sort of consolation. After she had given her luncheon order she spoke again to her vis-a-vis who was valiantly swallowing. "Do your folks live here in town?" she asked in the tone one uses toward a grieving child. "Oh, if I had folks!" returned the other. "Do people who have folks ever cry?" "Why, you poor child," said Miss Mehitable. For the girl caught her lower lip under her teeth and for a minute it seemed that she was not going to be able to weather the crisis of her emotion: but her self-control was equal to the emergency and she bit down the battling sob. Miss Mehitable saw the struggle and refrained from speaking for a few minutes. Her luncheon arrived and she broke open a roll. She continued to send covert glances at the young girl who industriously buttered small pieces of bread and put them into her unwilling mouth, and drank from a glass of milk. When Miss Upton thought it was safe to address her again, she spoke: "Who have you got to take care of you, then?" she asked. "Nobody," was the reply, but the girl spoke steadily now. Apparently she had summoned the calm of desperation. "Why, that don't seem possible," returned Miss Mehitable, and her voice and manner were full of such sympathetic interest that the forlorn one responded again; this time with a long look of gratitude that seemed to sink right down through Miss Upton's solicitous eyes into her good heart. "You're a kind woman. If there are any girls in your family they know where to go for comfort. I'm sure of that." "There ain't any girls in my family. I'm almost without folks myself; but then, I'm old and tough. I work for my livin'. I keep a little store." "That is what I wanted to do--work for my living," said the girl. "I've tried my best." Again for a space she caught her lip under her teeth. "First I tried the stores; then I even tried service. I went into a family as a waitress. I"--she gave a determined swallow--"I suppose there must be some good men in the world, but I haven't found any." Miss Upton's small eyes gave their widest stare and into them came understanding and indignation. "I'm discouraged"--said the girl, and a hard tone came into her low voice--"discouraged enough to end it all." "Now--now--don't you talk that way," stammered Miss Mehitable. "I s'pose it's because you're so pretty." "Yes," returned the girl disdainfully. "I despise my looks." "Now, see here, child," exclaimed Miss Upton, prolonging her troubled stare, "perhaps Providence helped me nearly trip up that slab-sided gawk. Perhaps I set down here for a purpose. Desperate folks cling to straws. I'm the huskiest straw you ever saw, and I might be able to give you some advice. At least I've got an old head and you've got a young one, bless your poor little heart. Why don't we go somewheres where we can talk when we're through eating?" "You're very good to take an interest," replied the girl.