She hurried across the pastures. The sun, which had been out of sight all day, now at time of setting shone out clear and bright and was reflected in every little pool. She reached the gate, closed it behind her, and was about to turn down the road, when she saw sitting on a rock by St. Helen’s gate a weary, worn-looking woman with a child. Something in the woman’s expression made Virginia forget the errand upon which she was bent. She looked more than discouraged—almost desperate. The little girl by her side sat upon a shabby satchel, and regarded her mother with sad, questioning eyes. There was something about them so lonely and pathetic that Virginia’s eyes filled with quick tears. She crossed the road and went up to them. “Are—are you in any trouble?” she asked hesitatingly. “Can I help you?” The woman in turn hesitated before she answered. But this young lady was apparently not like the two who had passed her but a moment before. She looked at her little girl, whose tired eyes were red from crying. Then she answered Virginia. “I’m in a deal of trouble,” she said slowly. “I’ve been sick, and we’ve spent our money; and because we were three months back on the rent, we were turned out this morning. I’m looking for work—any kind will do—and I came to Hillcrest because I was hoping to get it at the school there. I’ve heard tell of how Miss King is very kind; but the two young ladies, who passed here just a few minutes ago, said there was no work there at all. I guess they didn’t have much time for the likes of me. Do you go there, too?” “Yes,” said Virginia. “But they don’t know whether there’s any work or not at St. Helen’s. I don’t know either; but I know Miss King would like to find some for you if she could. Anyway, I want you to come to our cottage to supper with me. You are my guests—you and—what is the little girl’s name?” “Mary. And I’m Mrs. Michael Murphy. But, miss, you don’t mean come to supper with you? You see, we ain’t fit.” “Yes, you are perfectly fit. Saturday night no one dresses up. Please come, and then you can see Miss King after supper. You’d like to come, wouldn’t you, Mary?” Poor little Mary cared not for etiquette. Besides, she was plainly hungry. She pulled her mother’s dress. “Please go, mother. Please!” Virginia smiled at her eagerness. “Of course you’ll come, Mrs. Murphy. My name’s Virginia—Virginia Hunter. Let me help with your satchel, please. Come on, Mary.” With one hand she helped Mrs. Murphy with the satchel, while she gave the other to Mary, and they started up the hill—Virginia never once thinking that her new friends would not be as welcome guests as those who were often bidden to The Hermitage, Mary, untroubled by conventions and happy at the thought of supper, Mrs. Michael Murphy, secretly troubled, but compelled to snatch at any hope of work. “You’re not from these parts, I take it from your talk,” Mrs. Murphy remarked as they neared the campus.