“That’s splendid, Aunt Prue,” returned Hetty, “but we must be careful not to work a willing horse to death.” “Of course, Hetty; did I ever do that?” An odd little smile played about the girl’s lips, but she only said: “We’ve taken in a good many orders to-day; sold off most of our stock of ready-made hats too, and--there! it’s striking eleven, and I have two hats to trim before I go to bed.” “You’re worth your weight in gold, Hetty, and it’s a fine thing you need so little sleep,” remarked her aunt. “But I think Sarah should relieve you of the oversight of Patsy and the meals more than she does.” “Mother’s not well,” said Hetty shortly. “Oh, she’s hipped; it’s more that than anything else,” laughed Mrs. Sharp. “Good-night,” and she left the room. “Hipped! of course she is! Everybody is that complains of anything, except that Sharp Thorne of hers,” muttered Hetty, adjusting flowers, feathers, and loops of ribbon with deft and rapid fingers. “And of course I wouldn’t enjoy being in bed now, or lying an hour later in the morning! Well, thank Heaven, I haven’t a man to support, and don’t need one to support me,” she added cheerily. CHAPTER XVII. HETTY TO THE RESCUE. “The drying up a single tear has more Of honest fame than shedding seas of gore.”--BYRON. “Hetty Goodenough, you’ll have to interfere, and set your foot down firmly too, or the child’s health will be ruined for life,” remarked that young lady to herself, stealing another and another furtive glance at the wan, thin cheeks of Floy Kemper. “Why, she’s but the ghost of the pretty girl the expressman brought here two months ago.” The Christmas holidays were near at hand, and for weeks past orders for party-dresses, head-dresses, opera cloaks, etc., had poured in upon the establishment till, as Mrs. Sharp said, they were driven almost to distraction. It was now near midnight following one of the hardest days of the season, and all the weary toilers save these two had left the work-room to seek the rest so sorely needed. “Floy,” said Hetty aloud. They had long since taken up the habit of calling each other by these familiar names. “Well, Hetty?” and the girl, who was busily engaged in looping up the folds of rich silk and lace on an over-skirt, with delicate blossoms wonderfully real in their loveliness, looked up from her work with a faint smile. “Do give that up for to-night; you’ve done too much to-day by a great deal.” “But it can’t be helped while so many are hurrying us so for their dresses, and this will be done now in a few minutes.” “The heartless creatures!” ejaculated Hetty. “There’s nothing hardens the heart like love of dress, Floy; I’d rather be--what I am--worked half to death--than a butterfly of fashion. Well, if you’re determined to finish that, I must come and help you.” “Thank you,” said Floy. “What makes you so good to me, Hetty?” “It’s odd, isn’t it? but somehow I took a fancy to you the first minute I set eyes on you.”