something else much better, for "one fire does for the three," and the fire that heats the iron warms the room for three, and boils the kettle for three. Talk about thrift! Was there ever seen that which could eclipse these three old women in the art and virtue of saving? Thrift and economy! Why, the three poor old souls fairly revelled in it. They could give points to any of the professional teachers of thrift who know so much about the extravagance of the poor. One gaslight served for the three, and when a shilling was required to gently induce the automatic gas-meter to supply them with another too brief supply of light, the shilling came from common funds; and when the long day's work was done, and the old widow machinist prepared to lie down in the little bed that had been erstwhile covered with trousers, the other widow and aged spinster went aloft to their little rooms to light their little lamps and to count themselves happy if they possessed a bit of wood and a few crumbs of coal wherewith to make the morning fire. If not so fortunate, then, late and cold though the night be, they must sally forth to the nearest general shop, and with a few hardly-earned coppers lay in a fresh stock, and return laden with one pint of paraffin oil, one halfpennyworth of firewood, one pennyworth of coal, and most likely with one pennyworth of tea-dust. And in such course their lives will run till eyesight fails or exhausted nature gives way, and then the workhouse waits. It is the old widow machinist that talks to us, but she keeps on working. Her machine whirrs and creaks and rattles, for it is an old one, and its vital parts are none too good; and the old woman speaks to it sometimes as if it were a sentient thing, and reproves it when a difficulty arises. In her conversation with us frequent interjections are interposed that sometimes appeared uncomplimentary to us: "Now, stupid!" "Ah! there you are at it again!" But when she explained that she was referring to her machine and not to us, we forgave her. "I have had this machine for twenty-one years, and it has been a good one. I bought it out of my husband's club and insurance money." "How much did you have altogether?" "Twenty pounds, and I paid for his funeral and bought my mourning and this machine, and it's been a friend to me ever since, so I can't help talking to it; but it wants a new shuttle." "How much will that cost?" "Five shillings!" "Let me buy one for you." "I don't want to part with the old one yet. It will perhaps last my time, for I want a new shuttle, too. We are both nearly worn out;" and the machinist kept on with her work, and the other widow with her finishing, and the aged spinster with her pressing.