"There he comes!" and Hope ran forward out of the little garden to meet her father, as he came down the street, while her mother turned from the door where she had been waiting and watching with Hope, and went back into the tiny dining-room to put a few finishing-touches to the supper-table. Mr. Benham nodded as he caught sight of Hope. Then he called out,—

"How's business?"

"Two dollars more!"

"Well, well, you'll be a big capitalist soon at this rate, and grind the poor."

"Poor engineers like John Benham!" and Hope laughed gleefully at their joint joke.

"Yes, poor engineers like John Benham, who have extravagant daughters who want to buy violins. But, Hope, you mustn't get your thoughts so fixed on this violin business that you can't think of anything else. Your school, you know, begins next week."

"Yes, I know. I sha'n't neglect that. I wouldn't get marked down for anything."

"You're going to learn to be a teacher, you know; keep that in mind."

"I do; I do. Oh, father dear, don't worry about the music! 'All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy,' you said the other day. Now, music is my play. Some of the girls in my classes go to dancing-school, and do lots of things to amuse themselves. They don't seem to neglect their lessons, and why should I, with just this one thing outside, that I like to do?"

There was a twinkle in John Benham's eyes, as he looked down at his daughter.

"Who taught you to argue, Hope?"

"A poor engineer named John Benham," answered Hope, as quick as a flash.

John Benham laughed outright at this quick retort; and as he opened the gate that led into the little garden in front of his house, he put his arm over his daughter's shoulder, and thus affectionately side by side they walked along the narrow pathway. They were great friends, he and Hope. He used to tell her that as she was an only child, she must be son and daughter too, and he had very early got into the habit of talking to her in a confidential fashion that had the effect of making her a sort of little comrade from the first.

The young lady who had wondered at the little flower-seller's looking and speaking just like any other well-brought-up little girl would have had further cause for wonder if she could have followed the engineer and his daughter into their home, and seen the good taste of its pretty though inexpensive furnishing and arrangements. Locomotive engineers were unknown persons to this young lady. They belonged to the laboring-class; and that in her mind included all mechanical workers, from the skilled artisan to the ignorant hod-carrier and wielder of pick and shovel. She knew that the latter lived poorly, in poor quarters, crowded tenement houses, or shabby little frame cottages or cabins of two or three rooms. As the difference in the different work did not occur to her, neither did the possible difference in the manner of living.

There are older people than this young lady, this pretty Mary Dering, who are almost as unintelligent about the workers of the world, and they would have been almost as astonished as she, not only at the good taste of the simple furnishings, but at the signs of intelligent thought in the collection of books and magazines on the table. If pretty Mary Dering, however, could have seen all these things, she would not have wondered so much at Hope's speaking and looking like any well-brought-up little girl.

Hope was a well-brought-up little girl, as you will see,—as well brought up as Mary herself, or Mary's sister Dolly, who was just Hope's age. If you had said this to Mary Dering, she would have told you that she could not imagine a well-brought-up child selling things on the street. Dolly would never have been allowed to stand in public places and cry, "Ten cents a bunch! ten cents a bunch!" under any circumstances. But Mary did not know how much circumstances altered cases; and for one thing, if she could have seen Dolly in Hope's place for one half-hour, she would have had to own that Hope was much the better behaved of the two, for in spite of Dolly's bringing up, she was the greatest little rattler in public places, calling down upon herself this constant remonstrance from each one of her family, "Now, Dolly, do try to be quiet, like a lady!"

"But why, why, why," you ask, "did Hope, with such a nice, intelligent father, who could buy all those magazines and books,—why did she need to earn the money herself, to buy a violin?"

I'll tell you. To begin with, all those books and magazines were not bought by Mr. Benham; they were, with one or two exceptions, taken from the Boston Public Library. Mr. Benham's salary was only fifteen hundred dollars a year, and it took every cent of this to keep up that simple little home, and put by a sum every week for a rainy day.

Hope loved music, and she loved the music of a violin beyond any other kind. One day when she was in Boston, she saw the dearest little violin in a shop-window. What possessed her I don't know, for she knew she hadn't a penny in the world; but she went in and asked the price of it with the easiest air imaginable.

"Twenty-five dollars," the shopkeeper told her.

"Oh!" and Hope drew in her breath. Twenty-five dollars! It might as well have been twenty-five thousand dollars, for all the possibility of her possessing it.

"Don't—don't they have cheaper ones?" she asked timidly.

"They have things they call violins for ten, fifteen, twenty dollars, but they'd crack your ears. If you're going to learn to play, this is a good little fiddle for you to begin with, for it's true and sweet;" and the shopkeeper lifted it up and drew the bow across the strings, in a melodious, rippling strain that went to Hope's heart.

The man thought that she was going to take lessons; and she could, if she only had an instrument, for Mr. Kolb, an old German neighbor of theirs, who had once been the first violin in a famous orchestra, had said to her more than once when she had listened to his playing with delight: "Some day your fader will puy you a little violin, and I will teach you for notting, MÄdchen; you have such true lofe for music."

But twenty-five dollars! Oh, no! it could never be! and Hope went out of the shop with her plans laid low.

A few minutes later, as she was walking to the station, she heard a boy's voice, crying, "Ten cents a bunch! ten cents a bunch!"

She looked up, and saw that he held some very meagre little nosegays of arbutus,—meagre, that is, as to the arbutus, but made sizable by the border of stiff arbor-vitÆ. Then, all at once, the thought flashed into her mind. Why shouldn't she turn flower-seller? She knew where the arbutus grew thick, thick; and why, why—There was no putting the rest of her thoughts into words; but right there on the street she gave a little jump, and hummed the rippling strain she had just heard drawn from the good little fiddle.

Twenty-five dollars! What was that now with "Ten cents a bunch! ten cents a bunch!" ringing in her ears with such alluring possibilities?

Mr. Benham at first would not hear to the flower-selling plan; but when he saw that Hope's heart was set upon that "good little fiddle," when he heard her say to her mother, "If father can't buy the fiddle for me, it seems to me he might let me try to buy it for myself," he began to relent; and when the mother and he had a talk, and the mother said, "Of course you can't afford to buy it, John, for we are a little behind now, with your and my winter suits, and the new range to pay for yet; but as I really think it will be a good thing for Hope to learn to play the violin, I don't see why it wouldn't be a good thing for her to earn it herself," he relented still more, and when the mother said further, in answer to his objections to having Hope hanging around in public places, as a little peddler, "John, you can trust Hope; she is a sensible child," he relented entirely; and the next week after, Hope entered upon her business as a flower-seller.

The success of that first day was a surprise to her father, and he warned her not to expect anything like it on the succeeding days, telling her that the weather would very likely turn chilly and rainy, that fewer people might be going and coming from town, and that even these might not stop to buy flowers. He did not want to discourage her; he simply wanted to prepare her for disappointment. But Hope was not doomed to disappointment in this direction. The succeeding days proved both pleasant and profitable; especially profitable were Wednesday and Saturday afternoons, when so many ladies went in to the matinÉe performances. Yet with all this success, this pleasantness of weather, and steady increase in her sales, there was something very unpleasant for Hope to bear,—something that she had not in the least looked for, because she had never before met with anything like it.