"No; I never heard of them." "My land! you didn't? Ain't that queer? Why, they're splendid. They have five serial stories running all the time. As fast as one is finished another is commenced. Umm, they're awful exciting. You can't hardly wait from week to week to get the new instalments. Trouble is, ma says, we'd ought to each of us have a copy, we're so crazy to get hold of it when it comes. Some of the girls take fashion papers, and we lend them 'round. Some lend, I mean. Some are stingy, and won't. They have patterns in them. You can get some of the patterns free, and some cost ten or fifteen cents. Say, how do you like my dress?" Amy looked critically at her companion's attire. She admired it far less than Gwendolyn had her own simple frock, and she found the question difficult to answer without giving offence. She compromised by saying:-- "Your mother must be very industrious to have made it, with all the housework and the children." "If you ain't the greenest girl I know! My mother couldn't make a dress like this to save her life." "O--oh!" stammered Amy. "Indeed, she couldn't. This was made by a dressmaker. The best one in Ardsley, too. She charged me five dollars, and ma said it was too much. I think it was, myself, but what can you do? You must look right, you know; if you don't the girls will make fun of you, and the boys won't take you any place. Is there any boy you like, much?" "Why, of course; though I know only three. Is this the way, around the corner?" "Three? Who're they?" "Hallam, and Fayette, and William Gladstone. Doesn't the mill village look cosy? The cunning little houses with their porches and gardens and neat palings. Such a lot of folks living together should have good times, I think." "Oh, they do; prime. That's the 'Supe's' house, that big one, upon that little hill. That whole row belongs to the different 'bosses,'--of the setting room, the weavers, and the rest. The 'Supe' is real nice, I think, though some say he's stuck up. He was a poor boy, once,--as poor as a church mouse. Say, don't you feel sort of afraid to call on him, after all?" "Why? No, indeed. Afraid? Why should I?" "Oh, because." Amy laughed and hastened forward. Nothing more was said until they reached the door, shadowed by vines from which not even yet all the leaves had fallen. The whole place had a sheltered, homelike appearance, which spoke well for the taste and kindliness of its owners. "Yes; Mr. Metcalf is in. Would you like to see him? Ah, Gwendolyn, is it you? Walk in." Yet even Amy noticed that the maid's manner in welcoming her companion was less cordial than in welcoming herself. She concluded that there might be some truth in the assertion of this family considering themselves rather better than their neighbors.