In a trice all had gathered about the table, Mrs. Goodenough pouring out the coffee, Mrs. Sharp helping to the meat, and the others passing the bread, butter, and potatoes; then all fell to work as if their lives depended upon finishing the meal in the shortest possible space of time--all but the new-comer, who bent reverently over her plate for a moment ere she took up her knife and fork. She had been assigned a place at Mrs. Goodenough’s right hand. Hetty, who sat opposite, looked approval, but Mrs. Sharp’s comment was an impatient gesture, which, however, Floy did not see. “We expected you last night,” Mrs. Sharp said presently. Floy explained about the detention. “Ah! and you’re tired out most likely? won’t be fit to work to-day, I s’pose?” “I am willing to try,” was the quiet answer. “She ought to have a nap first,” said Hetty impulsively. “Yes, she looks tired,” remarked Mrs. Goodenough slowly; “and what is it Shakespeare says?” She dropped knife and fork, and with eyes fixed upon vacancy seemed to be vainly striving to recall some apt quotation which had half suggested itself, then slipped away before she could quite secure it. “Pshaw, Sarah!” exclaimed her sister impatiently, pushing back plate and chair and jumping up in haste, “I’m the first done, as usual. Girls, don’t be all day over your breakfast. Wash your hands and come right into the work-room as soon as you’re done; there’s no time to waste. Miss Kemper, take a nap if you need it. I’m not hard on my employees, even though my customers do drive me almost to distraction.” She left the room without waiting for a reply, and the four apprentices followed almost immediately in a body, Floy rose too. “Patsy and I will take your trunk up, Miss Kemper,” said Hetty. “It’s small, and we can easily carry it.” “But is there not some man I could hire?” “No, none near that I know of. Just let me have my own way. I’m used to it, ain’t I, mother?” laughed Hetty. “Of course you are, Hetty,” returned Mrs. Goodenough absently, sipping her tea. “What is it Shakespeare says?” CHAPTER XVI. INITIATED. “Come then, oh care! oh grief! oh woe! Oh troubles mighty in your kind! I have a balm ye ne’er can know-- A hopeful mind.”--F. VANE. Up three flights of stairs the trunk was carried, Floy following close behind, laden with satchel, hat, and shawl. “There!” cried Hetty pantingly, setting it down in the corner and straightening herself with her hands upon her hips, “I feel relieved; I’ve had my own way, and that’s something I always enjoy,” and she wound up with a cheery little laugh. All Floy’s protestations had been good-naturedly overruled, Hetty declaring herself a sort of female Samson, and the trunk very small and light. “You are very kind,” said Floy, “but you should have let me hire some one.”