“Then he can do the other thing,” returned the girl carelessly. “‘Prices’? no, certainly not. Our own confectioner.” “Because I thought,” returned the housekeeper, “as it is late in the afternoon, and every one busy, if you wouldn’t mind, as you have to pass our confectioner’s door”— “I _mean_ to pass his door,” said the girl. “Do you suppose I’m going in? Nasty hot place, smelling of cake and bread!” “Very well, miss. I’ll send John to the drug store to telephone. And oh! Miss Pinkie, that poor woman who has been cleaning the house—Tina Kellar, you know—would like to have more work to do, and there are some of the small rooms that need papering”— “But she’s not a paper-hanger.” “She’s as good as one, miss; for she papered her own house from top to bottom, and it’s as pretty a job as ever I see. Besides, she wouldn’t charge near as much as a regular paper-hanger.” “Humbug!” said Pinkie. “Give her what you’d give a man, if she does the work at all.” “Well, you’re a kind-hearted young lady,” said the housekeeper, “and I’ll do it gladly, miss; though the poor creature is hardly strong enough to do such hard work.” “Then, don’t give it to her,” said Pinkie; “I don’t believe in oppressing people.” “But she must work, you know, miss, to support her children.” “Then, what are you talking about? Give her the work if she wants it, and pay her well. If she’s not strong enough, she can let it alone. I hope you see she has good meals whenever she is here!” “Law, yes, miss; only she’s got so little appetite. She don’t eat enough for a baby. I believe all that keeps her up, anyhow, is determination. She looks like she could just lie down and die any minute.” “Well, make her some beef-tea,” said Pinkie; “that will do her good. It is wrong for people to work beyond their strength, wrong and foolish too. I don’t see why they do it.” “No, I suppose you don’t, when all the wish you’ve got is that you had something to wish for,” murmured the housekeeper, looking after her; while Pinkie, as she tripped along, thought complacently, “People talk about the difficulty of dealing with the laboring classes; but I don’t see any trouble in it at all, if you only know how!” Arrived at her aunt’s, she found the doctor confined to his room by an access of rheumatism, and quite unable to see any one; so Pinkie, in spite of her Parisian toilette, bustled around to help the boy from “Prices” lay the cloth in the parlor, where meals were now usually taken, and made herself so sweet and charming during the _tête-à-tête_ tea with her aunt that Alice’s sad face brightened perceptibly. “You’re a good little thing, Pinkie,” she said tenderly. “I wish I had you always.” “I’ll come and stay with you whenever you like,” said Pinkie, laying her cheek against her aunt’s shoulder; “but now run away to Uncle Fred, dearest; I know he wants you. I’ll just sit here and wait till some one comes for me.”