“Yes,” she said, with curt good humor, “hard at work as ever; hot though, and dragging on the strength; especially when one sets at it steady from daylight till eleven o’clock at night.” “But why do you work so hard, there is only yourself to support?” “That’s what every lady says; but, law, what do they know about it? Debt cries louder than children; they do give up sometimes, but agents never do, especially them as let tenement-houses for men who are too refined to crush out the poor with their own hands, but take the money without asking how it has been wrung out of our hard earnings, piling the extra per centage—which pays the agent for oppressing his tenants—on us. Then they talk about heavy taxes, as if we did not pay them and all the rest with our hard work. When the Common Council, and the State, or Congress, put taxes on them, they sit still in their comfortable parlors, and meet it all by raising the rents, which we pay like this.” The woman swept the perspiration from her forehead with one hand, which she held out, all moist and trembling from the pressure it had given to the iron. The front finger was honey-combed by the point of her coarse needle; the palm was coarse and hard from constant toil. “These are tax-marks,” she said, bitterly; “some of our people don’t understand it—but I do; for, poor or not, I will take the newspaper. It’s oppression—that’s what it is. If the agent would have been a little easy with me, I might have done a world of good in this identical house; but it wasn’t in me to turn a family out of doors when they couldn’t pay up to the minute; and so, in trying to save them, I got in debt. If he turns me out—and he threatened that this very morning—who will stand between him and the poor families in my rooms? I tell you what, Miss, it wasn’t to make money I took the house, but to keep it respectable and help my poor fellow-creturs along. There never was any profit in it; and now I’m likely to be turned out myself. It’s hard, miss—it is hard!” “Indeed, it does seem very cruel; but I suppose the man who has money can be a tyrant if he likes, in spite of the law. I’ll talk with grandmamma about this; perhaps she can help you. Just now I come to ask, that is, to invite you, to join us in a little party we are going to give the Burns family.” “What! they give a party?” “No—we; that is, grandmamma and a friend or two are going to surprise them.” “Big-bugs—that is, gentlemen and ladies?” “Yes, I—I believe so,” said Georgie, with great humility. “Then I can’t go—I shouldn’t feel at home.” “But I want your help in getting things ready. Grandmamma has left every thing for you and I to arrange. Here is plenty of money, but I have no idea how to go about spending it.” “Oh! if that’s what you want of me, I’m on hand. Haven’t had a play spell these ten years. It’ll do me good.” “I own it will—can you spare the time now?”