“Two children, for instance, barefooted, hungry, and in clothes only held together with constant mending.” “Excellent.” “And an old woman?” “Better and better! Nice and picturesque, of course.” “Neat and dainty, with the sweetest old face.” “It will be perfect! Oh, Horace! what a treasure you are to me. Now, turn down the gas, dear. You have set my mind at rest, and I mean to go to sleep till your father comes home. Here, just put my cap on that marble Sappho, and don’t crush it. Doesn’t she look lovely, the darling! like the ghost of a poetess coming back to life? Now draw the curtains; give me a quiet kiss, and go away to your club, or the opera, or anywhere. Only be sure to have the girl here in time.” Early the next morning, while Anna was dividing her little store of money, and apportioning it toward the payment of various small debts, she received a note, asking her to call on Mrs. Savage at once, if quite convenient. Anna was too grateful for delay. So, putting on her shawl and a straw bonnet, kept neatly for great occasions, she was on the marble steps, almost as soon as the messenger who brought her note. Mrs. Savage was taking a solitary breakfast in her own room. The sunlight came in softly through the lace curtains, as if trembling through flakes of snow, and turned the waves of maize-colored damask, that half enfolded them in, to a rich gold color. Mrs. Savage was seated in a Turkish easy-chair, cushioned with delicate blue, and spotted with the gold-work of Damascus. She wore a morning dress of dove-colored merino, and knots of pink ribbon gave lightness and bloom to her morning-cap of frost-like tulle. She looked up as Anna entered the room, and her whole face brightened. No peach ever had so rich a bloom as that which broke over the girl’s cheek; no statue in her boudoir could boast more perfect symmetry than that form. Walter Scott had no finer ideal when he drew that masterpiece of all his women, Rebecca. “Come here, my child, and sit down close by me; I want to look at you,” said the lady, beaming with satisfaction. “You have been doing work for us, I hear.” “Yes, madam,” answered Anna, with a grateful outburst, “yes, madam; thank you for it.” “Oh! it is nothing but our duty!” replied the lady, forgetting to ask if the work had been paid for. “All our efforts are in behalf of the poor soldiers’ families. Now I want you to help us in another way.” “I will—I will in any way!” “We shall open the fair with tableaux—a room has been built on purpose. Of course, the charge will be extra; the pictures will be beautiful—you must stand for two of them.” “I, madam?” “Certainly; for you are really beautiful. By the way, have you breakfasted? Here is a cup of coffee; drink it, while I talk to you.” Anna took the cup of delicate Sevres china, and drank its contents, standing by the table. “You have a grandmother, or something of that sort, I hear?” observed the lady. “Oh, yes! the dearest in the world.”