SHE stood before a little old-fashioned twisted-legged toilet stand putting the finishing touches to her hair, looking, the while, into a queer little old-fashioned mirror which had been in the family ever since she could remember. Almost everything had been in their family a long while. Especially, Marion sometimes thought, her dresses had. “They do not wear overskirts like this any more,” she had said to her mother that morning, as she was looping it.

“They do not wear overskirts at all,” said Renie, the younger sister, looking up from her book. Renie always knew what “they” did.

“I know it,” answered Marion, from whose face the slight cloud had already passed; “but we do, because, you see, it hides the pieced part of our dress, and the faded part, and various other blemishes. Why should not there be a what ‘we’ do, as well as to be always quoting what ‘they’ are about?”

Her mother laughed somewhat faintly. Marion’s quaint bright speeches were always restful to her; but the fact was undeniable that the dear girl’s clothes were old-fashioned and much worn, and the way to secure, or at least to afford new ones, was hedged.

You would not have called her pretty had you seen her as she stood before that little old-fashioned mirror, pushing in the old-fashioned comb into her knot of hair, and trying to make it hold the hair in the way the pretty new style fancy pins which the girls wore held theirs; but you would have liked her face, I think; nearly every one did. It was quiet and restful looking. She gave very little time to the hair, for she was late. There was so much to be done mornings that she was very apt to be late—I mean hurried. They never called her late at the store; she was always in her place before the great bell ceased ringing, but it required much bustling about and some running, to accomplish this. She was only thirteen, and most of the girls in her class in Sunday-school were students at the High School; but Marion had been for more than a year earning her own living. She had charge of the spool-cotton counter in one of the large stores.

It was a matter of some pride to her that she was a small saleswoman, instead of a cash girl. She had commenced, of course, in that way; but one happy day an unexpected vacancy had occurred at the spool counter, and she had fitted in so well that she had been kept there, although younger than most of the other salesgirls. Her face was quieter than usual this morning. Perhaps because it was such a rainy morning that she had felt compelled to wear the quite old dress, instead of the somewhat fresher one which had lately begun to come to the store on pleasant days. Marion had discovered that she needed special grace to help her through the rainy days and the old-fashioned gown.

Not very many people were abroad shopping; but Marion had her share of work, for those who came were in need of such commonplace useful things as spool cotton, or tape, or needles. She bent carefully over a drawer full of various colors, holding a tiny brown patch in her hand the while, trying to match the shade. “No,” she said, shaking her head, “that is not quite a match, but I am afraid it is the best I can do. If I were you I would take a shade darker rather than the lighter; my mother always does.”

The middle-aged woman, in a plain gossamer which covered her from head to foot, glanced up at the thoughtful young face and smiled.

“Does she?” she said. “I like to hear a young girl quote her mother’s judgment; it is apt to be wise judgment, I have noticed, as I think it is in this case. Show me darker shades, please.”

So another drawer was brought, and yet another, and the young head bent with the older one over them, and tried and tried again, and at last a satisfactory shade was found and the sale was made. Five cents’ worth of thread for fifteen minutes’ work!

“Why in the world did you putter so over that old maid and her patch? I should have told her I couldn’t match it and sent her about her business fifteen minutes ago.”

It was the girl whose stand was next to Marion who offered this bit of advice, while the “old maid” in question was but a few steps away from them looking at pin balls.

Marion turned a warning glance in her direction, and lowered her voice to answer: “Because I couldn’t find a match sooner. We went over all the thread drawers on that side, but I think we secured the exact shade at last.”

“What does it signify? Nothing but brown cotton. Wasn’t the patch part cotton? I thought so. The idea of making such an ado over a match for cheap goods like that! I wouldn’t fuss with such customers, I can tell you. Five cents’ worth of goods and fifty cents’ worth of bother. You couldn’t have done more for her if she had been your sister.”

Marion looked after the plain woman thoughtfully, then looked down at the tiny pin she wore. “I am not sure but she is. Anyhow, I was bound to endeavor to please her. I’m an Endeavorer, you know.” She gave the pin a significant touch as she spoke. It was very small—almost too small to attract attention—but the letters “C. E.” were, after all, quite distinct.

“O, bother!” said her neighbor, speaking contemptuously, “so am I; at least so far as wearing the pin is concerned. I wear it because it is pretty, and I have so few ornaments that I have to make the most of them; but as for putting sentiment into spools of cotton and balls of tape, I can’t do it; the things don’t match.”

“They ought to,” Marion said gravely. “If you and I don’t put our pledges into spools of cotton and balls of tape of what use are they? Because we spend our days in just such work.”

“I know it,” with a discontented yawn; “I’m sick and tired of it. It is a slave life; I’d get out of it if I could. If there was any chance of getting promoted it would be a little different. Belle Mason has been transferred to the ribbon counter, and she gets more wages and sees other sorts of people, and has lots of fun; she hasn’t been in the house as long as I have, either; it is just because she was put at a counter where she had a chance of pleasing people, and here we have just to poke over tape and cotton and pins, and such stuff. I think it’s mean!”

Pansy.