everything at twenty-two. I wish you 'd go at something, then you 'd find how much talent and energy you really had.'
'I know ever so many girls who are just like me, sick to death of fashionable life but don't know what to take in its place. I 'd like to travel; but papa says he can't afford it, so I can only drag about and get on as I may.'
'I pity you rich girls so much, you have so many opportunities, and don't seem to know how to use them! I suppose I should do just the same in your place, but it seems now as if I could be very happy and useful with plenty of money.'
'You are that without it. There, I won't croak any more. Let us go and take a good walk, and don't you tell any one how I came and cried like a baby.'
'Never!' said Polly, putting on her bonnet.
'I ought to go and make calls,' said Fanny, 'but I don't feel now as if I ever wanted to see any of the girls again. Dreadful state of mind, is n't it?'
'Suppose you come and see some of my friends instead! They are not fine or ceremonious, but lively, odd, and pleasant. Come, it will amuse you.'
'I will,' cried Fanny, whose spirits seemed improved by the shower. 'Nice little old lady, is n't she?' added Fan, as she caught sight of Miss Mills, on their way out, sitting at a table piled with work, and sewing away with an energy that made the gray curls vibrate.
'Saint Mehitable, I call her. Now, there is a rich woman who knew how to get happiness out of her money,' said Polly, as they walked away. 'She was poor till she was nearly fifty; then a comfortable fortune was left her, and she knew just how to use it. That house was given her, but instead of living in it all alone, she filled it with poor gentlefolks who needed neat, respectable homes, but could n't get anything comfortable for their little money. I 'm one of them, and I know the worth of what she does for me. Two old widow ladies live below me, several students overhead, poor Mrs. Kean and her lame boy have the back parlor, and Jenny the little bedroom next Miss Mills. Each pays what they can; that 's independent, and makes us feel better but that dear woman does a thousand things that money can't pay for, and we feel her influence all through the house. I 'd rather be married, and have a home of my own; but next to that, I should like to be an old maid like Miss Mills.'
Polly's sober face and emphatic tone made Fanny laugh, and at the cheery sound a young girl pushing a baby-carriage looked round and smiled.
What lovely eyes!' whispered Fanny.
Yes, that 's little Jane,' returned Polly, adding, when she had passed, with a nod and a friendly 'Don't get tired, Jenny,' 'we help one another at our house, and every fine morning Jenny takes Johnny Kean out when she goes for her own walk. That gives his mother time to rest, does both the children good, and keeps things neighborly. Miss Mills suggested it, and Jenny is so glad to do anything for anybody, it 's a pleasure to let her.'
'I 've heard of Miss Mills before. But I should think she would get tired to death, sitting there making hoods and petticoats day after day,' said Fanny, after thinking over Jenny's story for a few minutes, for seeing the girl seemed to bring it nearer, and make it more real to her.
'But she don't sit there all the time. People come to her with their troubles, and she goes to them with all sorts of help, from soap and soup, to shrouds for the dead and comfort for the living. I go with her sometimes, and it is more exciting than any play, to see and hear the lives and stories of the poor.'
'How can you bear the dreadful sights and sounds, the bad air, and the poverty that can't be cured?'
'But it is n't all dreadful. There are good and lovely things among them, if one only has eyes to see them. It makes me grateful and contented, shows me how rich I am, and keeps me ready to do all I can for these poor souls.'
'My good Polly!' and Fanny gave her friends arm an affectionate squeeze, wondering if it was this alone that had worked the change in Polly.
'You have seen two of my new friends, Miss Mills and Jenny, now I 'll show you two more,' said Polly, presently, as they reached a door, and she led the way up several flights of public stairs. 'Rebecca Jeffrey is a regularly splendid girl, full of talent; she won't let us call it genius; she will be famous some day, I know, she is so modest, and yet so intent on her work. Lizzie Small is an engraver, and designs the most delightful little pictures. Becky and she live together, and take care of one another in true Damon and Pythias style. This studio is their home, they work, eat, sleep, and live here, going halves in everything. They are all alone in the world, but as happy and independent as birds; real friends, whom nothing will part.'
'Let a lover come between them, and their friendship won't last long,' said Fanny.
'I think it will. Take a look at them, and you 'll change your mind,' answered Polly, tapping at a door, on which two modest cards were tacked.
'Come in!' said a voice, and obeying, Fanny found herself in a large, queerly furnished room, lighted from above, and occupied by two girls. One stood before a great clay figure, in a corner. This one was tall, with a strong face, keen eyes, short, curly hair, and a fine head. Fanny was struck at once by this face and figure, though the one was not handsome, and the other half hidden by a great pinafore covered with clay. At a table where the light was clearest, sat a frail-looking girl, with a thin face, big eyes, and pale hair, a dreamy, absorbed little person, who bent over a block, skillfully wielding her tools.
'Becky and Bess, how do you do? This is my friend, Fanny Shaw. We are out on a rampage; so go on with your work, and let us lazy ones look on and admire.'
As Polly spoke, both girls looked up and nodded, smilingly; Bess gave Fan the one easy-chair; Becky took an artistic survey of the new-comer, with eyes that seemed to see everything; then each went on with her work, and all began to talk.
'You are just what I want, Polly. Pull up your sleeve, and give me an arm while you sit; the muscles here are n't right, and you 've got just what I want,' said Becky, slapping the round arm of the statue, at which Fan was gazing with awe.
'How do you get on?' asked Polly, throwing off her cloak, and rolling up her sleeves, as if going to washing.
'Slowly. The idea is working itself clear, and I follow as fast as my hands can. Is the face better, do you think?' said Becky, taking off a wet cloth, and showing the head of the statue.
'How beautiful it is!' cried Fanny, staring at it with increased respect.
'What does it mean to you?' asked Rebecca, turning to her with a sudden shine in her keen eyes.
