"So is mine, Miss," volunteered poor Maria, "but I can't read it." Lola turned quickly to her. "Shall I read it for you?" "Thank you, Miss, I knew you would, but I'd be ashamed to have him know it. He ain't like most of the young fellars hanging around. He's smart! He's a sailor, on the _Vermont_, and he's just fine!" "This is from Boston," said Lola, as she glanced at the open letter Maria handed to her. "I am glad to read it for you, of course, but before long I am going to have you so that you will be able to read his letters for yourself." "I hope so, Miss Lola, but I'm awful slow. I don't know what I'd do if it wasn't for you," she continued gratefully; "there ain't anybody else in the world I could bear to see reading his letters. I'd rather just keep them, without ever knowing what he said. It's a lot just to know that a person wants to write to you." "'Boston, June Third,' began Lola. 'Respected Friend: I write you these lines to say that I am well, and I hope you are the same. Boston is a fine City, with lots of people and many buildings. There is water here with ships and things in it, just like New York. I often think of you, and no girl seems like you to me, so no more from, "'Yours respectfully, "'Wm. BARNES.'" "Ain't that a fine letter?" said Maria, with great admiration. "Getting letters like that makes me more ashamed than ever. I'm afraid I'm too ignorant to appreciate all he tells about the countries he visits." "It is a very fine letter, I am sure, Maria, and he must be a fine fellow, and very fond of you?" "Oh, yes, I'm sure he is," replied Maria happily. "At first I wouldn't have nothing to do with him, but he kept on coming around,--and now I'm glad he did. After what I saw at home I about made up my mind not to let any man come near me, but--but somehow he's different. He wouldn't act like father, or like my sister's husband, I know; he's the kind that seems to think a girl ought to be taken care of; that's nice, when you never had anybody that thought that in all your life, isn't it?" "It's very nice, Maria," replied Lola, quite touched by the tone of real affection in Maria's voice. "I am sure that it is the nicest thing in the world." As she spoke a ring of the bell interrupted them, and Maria, hastily putting the precious letter in her apron pocket, went to the door and admitted a shabby little woman and a delicate child. "Good morning, Mrs. Mooney," said Lola, as she caught sight of them. "Good morning, Nellie! Come right in. Tell father, Maria!" she continued, and as Maria left the room she bent over little Nellie and kissed her tenderly, then turned to the anxious mother and did her best to put her at her ease.