"Who are you?" asked Rose of the latter speaker, with some curiosity. "I am a city missionary," answered the lady, quietly, "and it is my business to help such poor girls as you are. I say to you from full knowledge, and in all sincerity, to go home is the very best thing that you can do." "But why is there not a chance for a poor, well-meaning girl to earn an honest living in this great city?" "Thousands are earning such a living, but there is not one chance in a hundred for you." "Why?" asked Rose, hotly, "Do you see all these houses? They are full of people," continued Mrs. Ranger, "and some of them contain many families. In these families there are thousands of girls who have a home, a shelter, and protectors here in the city. They have society in relatives and neighbors. They have no board to pay, and fathers and mothers, brothers and sisters, helping support them. They put all their earnings into a common fund, and it supports the family. Such girls can afford, and will work for two, three, four, and five dollars a week. All that they earn makes the burden so much less on the father, who otherwise would have supported them in idleness. Now, a homeless stranger in the city must pay board, and therefore they can't compete with those who live here. Wages are kept too low. Not one in a hundred, situated as you are, can earn enough to pay board and dress as they are required to in the fashionable stores. Have you been able?" "No," groaned Rose. "I am in debt to my landlady now, and I had some money to start with." "There it is," said Mrs. Ranger, sadly; "the same old story." "But these stores ought to pay more," said Rose, indignantly. "They will only pay for labor, as for everything else, the market price, and that averages but six dollars a week, and more are working for from three to five than for six. As I told you, there are thousands of girls living in the city glad to get a chance at any price." Rose gave a weary, discouraged sigh and said, "I fear you are right, I must go home. Indeed, after what has happened I hardly dare stay." "Go," said Zell, "as if you were leaving Sodom, and don't look back." Then she asked, with a wistful, hungry look, "Have you see any of--?" She stopped--she could not speak the names of her kindred. "Yes," said Rose, gently. (Yesterday she would have stood coldly aloof from Zell. To-day she was very grateful and full of sympathy.) "I know they are well. They were all sick after--after you went away. But they got well again, and (lowering her voice) Edith prays for you night and day." "Oh! oh!" sobbed Zell, "this is torment, this is to see the heaven I cannot enter," and she dashed away. "Poor child!" said Mrs. Ranger, "there's an angel in her yet if I only knew how to bring it out. I may see her to-morrow, and I may not for weeks. Take the money she left with you, and here is some more. It may help her, to think that she helped you. And now, my dear, let me see you safely on your way home."