“Ah, I’m used to the life, and I have an object; poor mother has only me to relieve her of her heavy burdens; love of her lightens toil wonderfully!” “Love of Another too, Hetty; isn’t it so? And I too can rejoice in the hope that He is pleased when I strive to do my work faithfully, because it is of His appointment, and be patient under trial, because He sends it.” Hetty silently pressed the hand she held, a tender moisture gathering in her eyes. “And--yes, I will tell you, for I am sure you are a true friend, one worthy of my confidence. I have another object in life besides the necessity of earning my own support.” And in a few brief, eager sentences, alight shining in her eyes, a tender smile hovering around her full, red lips, Floy told of her hope that she had still a mother living, and should some day be able to search her out. Hetty listened to the tale in almost breathless surprise and delight. “You’ll find her!” she cried, “you’ll find each other--I’m sure of it.” “And so am I at times, but I seem to make no progress of late. I so seldom get out even into the street, or go anywhere that I am likely to meet strangers.” “You ought to be in the store,” said Hetty musingly; “perhaps that can be managed by and by, and in the meanwhile I’ll be on the lookout for you. You resemble her?” “Yes, allowing for the difference in age. Oh, it seems to me I should know the face if I saw it!” It was past midnight now, and as the girls must be up by five o’clock in the morning, it behooved them to retire at once. They bade each other good-night and stole softly upstairs, Hetty stopping on the third floor while Floy went on up to the attic. It was indeed a change from her old home in Cranley to this that hardly deserved the name, and not more the change in the accommodations and surroundings than in the life she led--leisure, petting indulgence, tender, watchful care in the one; in the other incessant toil, seldom rewarded by so much as a word or smile of approval, very plain fare, her happiness evidently a matter of indifference to all about her except warm-hearted, sympathizing Hetty. But Floy had borne it well; silent and abstracted she often was, scarce hearing the idle chatter of the others, but always diligent and faithful in the performance of the tasks assigned her; no eye-service was hers, and though often very weary and heart-sick, no complaint passed her lips or could be read in her countenance; what her hand found to do she did with her might, and having, as Mrs. Sharp discovered ere she had been in the house a week, a decided genius for cutting, fitting, and trimming, she had been worked very hard, and was already secretly esteemed an invaluable acquisition to the establishment. She was breaking down under the unaccustomed strain; she needed the generous, varied, and nutritious diet, the abundance of fresh air and exercise, and somewhat of the rest and freedom from care of the olden time.