"Six rows of the ruffling, edged with lace, and two tucks between each ruffle. Mind you don't make a mistake, now; had you not better write it down? You will remember to make the upper tuck about a fifth of an inch narrower than the others. Do it very nicely, you know I am particular about my work. Remember—let me have it, without fail, by next Thursday evening," and the speaker gathered her voluminous skirts in her hand and tripped through the door and into her carriage.

"For good gracious' sake, who's that?" asked Miss Snecker.

"Yes—who's that? Every body who sees her fine airs and gay dresses, asks me that question. I suppose you wouldn't believe if I should tell you what caterpillar that butterfly came from;" and Miss Bodkin put her feet upon the cricket, and took up the interminable yards of ruffling and commenced her work and her history.

"Well—that's Mrs. Howe, and how she ever became Howe, is more of a mystery to other people than it is to me.—'Mrs. John Howe'—a very well sounding name you see, but for all that it never can make a lady of her. 'Mrs. John Howe.' It used to be 'Dolly Smith;' it was 'Dolly Smith' much longer than its owner liked. It was painted in large, green letters over a little milliner's shop in Difftown. Such a fidget as it was in to get its name changed; but nobody seemed to want it. It tried the minister, it tried the deacon, it tried the poor, bony old sexton (mercy knows it never would have taken so much pains, had it known as much about men as I do), however, that's neither here nor there. It was a way it had. Well—by and by a shoe-maker from the city came up to our village for three weeks' fishing, and while he was baiting for fish, Dolly baited for him. She used to stand at the door of an evening, when he came up the village street, with his fishing tackle and basket; by and by he got to stopping a bit, to rest, and to buy a watch-ribbon and one thing and another, as a man naturally would, where he was sure of a welcome. Well, one evening when he came, Dolly was seized with a horrid cramp—I never had no faith in that cramp—such a fuss as she made. Well, John said he might be in the way, and so he would leave, till she was better. Simpleton! That was just what she didn't want him to do. Well, every body else round was sent flying for 'doctors and medicines,' and John staid through that cramp; and the next thing I heard, the bonnets was took down out of the shop, it was shut up, and that's the way Dolly Smith became Mrs. John Howe. Of course it don't set very well on me to have her come in here with her patronizing airs, to bring me her work to do; but a body must pocket their pride such hard times as these. I shall nurse my wrath, any way, till I get a little richer."

"Well, I never!" exclaimed Miss Snecker, "how artful some women is! I suppose now she has every thing she wants, and has a beautiful time—the hateful creature."

"Yes, she is rich enough," said Miss Bodkin, "her husband gave up the shoe business long ago. She is as stingy as she is rich; she beats me down to the lowest possible price for every stitch I do for her.

"She was dreadful mortified about her niece Rose; suppose you know all about that? No! Well, Dolly took her when she was a little thing to bring up, as she said (the child was an orphan), and a poor sorry little drudge she made of her. She didn't have no childhood at all. She had a great faculty for reading, and wanted to devour every book she could get, which wasn't many, you may be sure, where Dolly was round. The child had no peace of her life, day nor night; was worried and hunted round like a wild beast.

"After Dolly married, she sent Rose away to school, making a great talk about her 'generosity in giving her an eddication,' but the fact was, that Mr. Howe was younger than Dolly, and Rose was handsome: you see where the shoe pinched," said Miss Bodkin, giving Miss Snecker a nudge in the ribs.

"Certain," said Miss Snecker; "well, what became of the girl?"

"Well, Rose was handsome, as I told you, though she didn't know it, and good as she was handsome; but sad-like, for she never had any body to love her. I don't think she was sorry to leave her aunt, but still you know the world is a great wide cold place to push a young thing like that out into. However, she started off with her little trunk to Mrs. Graw's school.

"Mrs. Graw used to be chambermaid to a real Count's wife, and as soon as she found out that Rose was a poor relation, she kinder trod her down, and the school-girls disliked her, because she was handsomer than they, and so she was miserable enough, till she made the acquaintance of Captain Vincent, who took her away from school, to be married, as he said, and then ran off and left her. Of course, her aunt was dreadful hard on her, and drove her almost crazy with her reproaches. She wouldn't believe any thing she said about her being really married; and was just as bitter as if she herself hadn't been man-hunting all her life.

"She held Rose off at arm's length, as if the poor betrayed child's touch were poison; shut her doors in her face, and all that; and why the poor thing didn't take to bad ways nobody knows. She went to a Lying-in Hospital, and staid there till the babe was born, and then there was a great noise, when it was found out how rich her aunt was; and when Mrs. Howe found out that people's tongues were wagging about it, she came forward and offered to pay her board in the country awhile.

"Mrs. Howe herself lives up in St. John's Square. She is trying to ride into fashionable society with her carriage and liveried servants; and that poor girl so heart-broken.

"Well, the Lord only knows what is going to become of poor Rose! Beauty and misery—beauty and misery—I've seen what came of that partnership before now."