The morning air was chilly, blowing fresh and keen from the lake; the girl’s mood silent and sad, for, alas! no glad welcome, no loving caress, nor even a familiar face would greet her in the new abode (she could not call it home) to which she was hastening. But her gallant charioteer, who had, perchance, never before had so sweet a face by his side, did his best to entertain and amuse her, pointing out the district swept by the great fire, relating incidents connected with it, and calling her attention to the fine buildings which had already sprung up in the places of those destroyed. Arrived at her destination, he leaped nimbly from his perch, gave the door-bell a vigorous pull, and assisted her to alight. There was a sound of quick pattering steps, the forcing back of a bolt, the turning of a key; the door was hastily jerked open, and Floy just caught a glimpse of a narrow hall with its oil-cloth-covered floor, an unkempt head and dirty face in the foreground, and all was darkness. “There, the wind’s blowed the candle out! Miss Hetty, Miss Hetty, come right here! quick!” screamed the owner of the head. Then to Floy, “Who are you? and what d’ye want so awful early? We don’t never ’spect no customers this time in the morning.” But before Floy could speak another person appeared upon the scene--a girl not many years older than herself, neat and trim in dress, and with a bright, intelligent, cheery, though homely face. She came from the farther end of the hall, carrying a lighted lamp, and, holding it high over her head, peered into the darkness beyond. “What _are_ you making such a racket about, Patsy Devine? You’ll wake everybody in the house and our Sharp Thorne will give you a prick.” Then catching sight of Floy just stepping aside out of the way of the expressman, who was bringing in the trunk, “Oh! how d’ye do?” she said. “I suppose its--” “Miss Kemper--” “Ah, yes, the young lady Aunt Prue--Mrs. Sharp--was expecting. It’s all right.” The expressman set down the trunk, received his pay, and departed. Miss Hetty secured the door after him, and turning to Floy, said: “Breakfast’s about ready to set on the table, so it won’t be worth while for you to climb the stairs till afterwards.” “I am hardly fit to--” “Oh, I’ll provide you with means for removing the coal-dust from face and hands,” interrupted Hetty briskly, leading the way into the dining-room and across it to a closet, where she turned the water into a stationary washstand, and taking a clean towel and piece of soap from a drawer, laid them down beside it. “There, just take off your things and give them to me.” “Thank you, but--my hair?” said Floy, “I never sat down to breakfast in my life without first using a comb and brush.” “Oh, just smooth it a little on top, and it’ll do well enough for this once; we’re all women and girls together; not a man in the house except Mr. Sharp, and he never comes to our early breakfast.”