“Yes, that’s it; she often cries by the hour; and when I ask what’s the matter, she says, ‘I haven’t a soul in the world to care for me, Mary; my family are all dead and gone.’ Poor creature! it’s sad enough, and I ought to be patient with her; but indeed, miss, it’s often enough to try the patience of a saint--the way she goes on, wantin’ to be dressed a half a dozen times a day, and wakin’ me up to wait on her every hour in the night. There’s her bell now, and I must be gone.” “Poor woman!” sighed Floy to herself. “I wonder if she knows of the Friend whose love is everything to me now? I wish I could tell her what comfort and rest it gives.” The Madame was still in bed. Frisky had crept in beside her, and Mary found her petting and caressing him. “My pretty pet! my little darling!” she was saying, “you at least love me. And I love you, precious little beauty. Ah, Mary,” to her maid as she caught sight of her, “so there you are! Just bring the darling’s silver bells, and a pink ribbon to tie them with. He wants them, I know he does, the pretty pet!” Mary obeyed, fastening the string of tiny, tinkling bells about the dog’s neck, and could not refrain from joining her mistress’s laugh over his evident delight in his finery. “Has he had his breakfast, Mary?” the Madame inquired with solicitude, “and did he eat with appetite? You know I thought him dull and droopy yesterday.” “Yes, Madame, I know; but I’m sure, as I told you then, it was nothing but want of exercise and over-eating.” “Nonsense, Mary! you forget that he takes an airing with me almost every day.” “No, Madame, but I should say he needed more than that. Yes, he had his breakfast, and eat a plenty.” “That is well. Has Miss Kemper come?” Mary answered the query, and made a report of the work and directions she had given Floy, at the same time busying herself in assisting the Madame with her toilet. That week was a busy one to Floy, yet restful also, albeit she was somewhat sated with the Madame’s company, often wearying enough to those who must listen to her complainings and submit to her whims. Yet she was at times quite entertaining. Frisky’s little tricks, too, were really very amusing. Besides, Floy had every day several quiet, usually solitary hours--while the Madame slept--was fed upon the fat of the land, and retired to bed reasonably early each night. On returning to Mrs. Sharp’s, she was not grieved to learn that the young people had already left for school. Work slackened slightly for a few weeks, then again, as the spring season opened, they were almost overwhelmed with it. And this was the state of affairs until the fervid heats of summer began to drive the fashionables away from the city. Even then there was small respite, for some left unfinished dresses to be sent after them, and many who remained behind wanted work done also.