people, and it was his boast that he had at some time loaned money to more than half of his more intimate acquaintances to tide them over some difficulty. He was proud of himself as a money lender,—proud that he could afford to wear plain clothes, live far down town and drive old Whitey. Sherry, however, did not seem quite in keeping with the old horse and buggy. Something in her face made him think of the grand turnouts and the ladies who graced them; and when the drive in the park was suggested, he thought to have a handsome carriage and “show her off with the best of ’em.” But his more frugal wife suggested that this would be quite an expense after the opera box, and though Sherry might grace any carriage he could hire, he would be out of place in his old gray coat and hat. So the carriage was given up and the drive taken behind Whitey. Sherry enjoyed it immensely, and saw Alex. Marsh, who Uncle Pledger told her “was a swell man, but about as good as they made ’em,” and knew that he drove behind them on their way home, and called afterwards to inquire about his Uncle Amos, who owned the farm where her great-grandfather once lived, but she thought no more about him. Since that time her father had died, leaving his family, as clergymen’s families frequently are left, with little to depend upon besides their own exertions. They owned the house they lived in; there had been a life insurance, and Kate was teaching in a graded school. Sherry, who was the cleverest of housekeepers, and saved her delicate mother in every possible way, was doing nothing, and had puzzled her brain until it ached over the problem as to what she could do. She wanted to see the world and to earn some money at the same time, and here was her chance. The waitress part did not disturb her at all. She would still be Fanny Sheridan Sherman, although she did not intend to make any capital out of that or expect any favors. She would go like the rest of the girls and be one of them. She was rather self-willed when her mind was made up, and overcoming her mother’s and sister’s scruples, she wrote to Mrs. Groves in New York, asking for a situation as waitress at Maplehurst. “I hope you told her about Aunt Pledger, and that you were a clergyman’s daughter and a lady,” Katy said, and Sherry replied: “Indeed I didn’t! I just asked for the place and signed myself ‘Fanny S. Sherman.’ I’m going to be Fanny up there and leave Sherry behind with the rest of me.” In a few days Mrs. Groves’ answer came, very stiffly worded, to the effect that Mrs. Groves would see her on a certain day at a certain hour, and would expect references as to character and ability. “I told you so,” Katy said. “References from the last lady you worked for.”