“No one; I take care of myself. I work for Madame, and she pays me a dollar a week. I stay with Mrs. Brown, and chore round to pay for my keep. My dollar don't get many clothes, so I can't be as neat as I'd like.” And the forlorn look came back to poor Lizzie's face. Belle said nothing, but sat among the sofa cushions, where she had thrown herself, looking soberly at this other girl, no older than she was, who took care of herself and was all alone in the world. It was a new idea to Belle, who was loved and petted as an only child is apt to be. She often saw beggars and pitied them, but knew very little about their wants and lives; so it was like turning a new page in her happy life to be brought so near to poverty as this chance meeting with the milliner's girl. “Aren't you afraid and lonely and unhappy?” she said, slowly, trying to understand and put herself in Lizzie's place. “Yes; but it's no use. I can't help it, and may be things will get better by and by, and I'll have my wish,” answered Lizzie, more hopefully, because Belle's pity warmed her heart and made her troubles seem lighter. “What is your wish?” asked Belle, hoping mamma wouldn't come just yet, for she was getting interested in the stranger. “To have a nice little room, and make flowers, like a French girl I know. It's such pretty work, and she gets lots of money, for every one likes her flowers. She shows me how, sometimes, and I can do leaves first-rate; but--” There Lizzie stopped suddenly, and the color rushed up to her forehead; for she remembered the little rose in her pocket and it weighed upon her conscience like a stone. Before Belle could ask what was the matter, Marie came in with a tray of cake and fruit, saying: “Here's your lunch, Miss Belle.” “Put it down, please; I'm not ready for it yet.” And Belle shook her head as she glanced at Lizzie, who was staring hard at the fire with such a troubled face that Belle could not bear to see it. Jumping out of her nest of cushions, she heaped a plate with good things, and going to Lizzie, offered it, saying, with a gentle courtesy that made the act doubly sweet: “Please have some; you must be tired of waiting.” But Lizzie could not take it; she could only cover her face and cry; for this kindness rent her heart and made the stolen flower a burden too heavy to be borne. “Oh, don't cry so! Are you sick? Have I been rude? Tell me all about it; and if I can't do anything, mamma can,” said Belle, surprised and troubled. “No; I'm not sick; I'm bad, and I can't bear it when you are so good to me,” sobbed Lizzie, quite overcome with penitence; and taking out the crumpled rose, she confessed her fault with many tears. “Don't feel so much about such a little thing as that,” began Belle, warmly; then checked herself, and added, more soberly, “It WAS wrong to take it without leave; but it's all right now, and I'll give you as many roses as you want, for I know you are a good girl.”