“And so comfortable!” said Clara. She sat in the chair and clumsily rocked it. “Try it, Mrs. McGibney! You ain’t got no idea how comfortable it is. You sit in it, Mr. McGibney. Just lie back and push with your feet and see what a comfort it is. My! I can just see myself in it, me with my shoes off and resting after the day. Such comfort in it! I don’t guess I ever made such a bargain before. But what do you think? That mirror I was so set on was bought! That’s mean, ain’t it? I was awful provoked when I heard it. Just the same, I got my eye on a stove that’s fine and well worth the four dollars they ask for it. It’s all nickel in front, and only one of the bricks broken, and can be fixed with five cents’ worth of fire-clay. It’ll look nice in your front room, won’t it?” “Ve-ry nice!” answered distressed McGibney. Clara got up to go. Had to sink back and take another rock in the chair, so comfortable after the day’s work, and one’s shoes off. It was indeed worth scrubbing for! Up to go. Well, just one more rock—away back and slowly down again, you know. And you, too, look again at it! My! but what a bargain! And Clara bought it! On her own hands and knees she had earned it. Before going away, Clara lingered at the door. Perhaps they would laugh at her if she should take another rock, but she might look at the chair for another moment. “Ain’t this pretty oil-cloth you got!” Looking only at the chair. “I must get a kitchen table like yours.” Looking only at her own rocking-chair. She left McGibney staring gloomily, but saying, sturdily: “Us poor folks must help each other!” Mrs. McGibney bustled. It was a different Clara when seen again. Her face was flushed; the unintelligent but soft eyes were like eyes that could not see outward things, as if they were engaged in the unusual occupation of looking within at her own mind. Convince Clara that she had a grievance, and thick, obstinate brooding replaced uncomplaining stolidity. By force of habit, Clara’s slow, amiable smile flickered, but her eyes were as if turned upon brooding within. “Someone’s did that a-purpose!” said Clara, slowly, deliberately, staring, seeming to see neither McGibney nor Mrs. McGibney. “Me that thought I didn’t have a enemy in the world! Where would I get a enemy, me always kind to everybody? I had my heart set on that stove that only needed a little fire-clay. Someone’s bought it, just to annoy me. When the mirror went, I didn’t think nothing of it, but the stove too, is to annoy me. They won’t make nothing by that, and bad luck will come upon them for it.” “Why, Clara, it only happened that way,” reasoned Mrs. McGibney. “Nobody would go and be as mean as that to you, specially as they’d have to spend money.”