It was on Wednesday that a little party of girls came hurrying into the Brookside station, as if they had not a minute to lose, when one of them exclaimed: "Why, our train has gone; look at that!" pointing to the indicator. "The next train goes at 1.40. We shall have only twenty minutes to get from the Boston station to the Museum."

"Time enough," answered Mary Dering; "we always go too early. But there's our little girl. We shall have ample opportunity now to buy all the flowers we want. Dolly," to her younger sister, who was marching up and down the platform with a friend of her own age, "Dolly, don't you want to buy some flowers?"

"Flowers? Oh, yes!" and Dolly came racing up, calling out in a loud whisper, as she joined the group, "Say, Mary, is that your wonderful flower-girl?"

"Hush, Dolly; don't!"

"Don't what?"

"Don't whisper so loudly; she can hear you."

Dolly laughed. "What if she does? I didn't say anything that wasn't nice."

The group of girls pressed around Hope, and bought lavishly of her stock. Dolly and her friend Lily Styles were the latest of the buyers, for coming up last they were on the outside of the group. As they stood alone with Hope, they picked and pecked first at one bouquet, and then another. This was fuller, and that was bigger, and still another was prettier and pinker. At last they made a choice, and Hope breathed a sigh of relief at the thought that now her exacting purchasers would leave her to herself. But Dolly Dering had no notion of leaving Hope to herself. No sooner was the purchase concluded than Miss Dolly, lifting her big black eyes with a curious gaze to Hope's face, asked abruptly,—

"Do you like to sell flowers on the street?"

Hope flushed hotly. "I don't sell flowers on the street."

"Well, in a station, then. I should think that was just the same as on the street; it's out-of-doors in a public place."

Hope made no further reply. She would have moved away if she could have done so easily, but the two girls stood directly in front of her, completely shutting her into her corner. Perhaps, however, they would go away if she busied herself with her flowers, and she began to re-arrange and spray them with water. But Dolly, at sight of this operation, began with fresh interest, "Oh! is that the way you keep 'em fresh? How nice! let me try it, do!" and before Hope could say "yes" or "no," she had seized the sprayer out of her hands. Her first effort, instead of benefiting the flowers, sent a sharp little sprinkle directly against Hope's light cloth jacket. Hope started back with an exclamation of dismay.

"Oh, it won't hurt it!" cried Dolly. Then, as she saw Hope rubbing the wet place with her handkerchief, she asked, "Will your mother punish you if she finds the jacket spotted?"

"Punish me?" exclaimed Hope, looking up at the questioner.

"Yes, punish you; whip you, perhaps."

"My mother—whip me?" ejaculated Hope, staring at Dolly, as if she thought her out of her mind.

"Yes, whip you; I didn't know—"

"Would your mother whip you if you got spots on your jacket?" inquired Hope, in a sharp, indignant voice.

"My mother? No."

"Then why should you think my mother would whip me?"

Dolly was not a very sensitive young person, but she could not blurt out exactly what was in her mind,—that she thought all poor people, working-people, whipped their children when they offended them in any way. Her ideas of poor people were very vague, and gathered partly from the talk of her elders about the North End poor that the Associated Charities assisted. In this talk a word now and then concerning the careless way in which these people beat their children for the slightest offence impressed her more than anything. Then Bridget Kelly, who had been Dolly's nurse, had often related stories of her own childish naughtinesses, for her—Dolly's—benefit, and she had almost invariably wound up these stories with the remark, "And didn't my mother beat me well for being such a bad girl!"

Dolly had put this and that together, and come to the conclusion that poor people were all alike,—a good deal as her sister had included all mechanical workers together. But if Miss Dolly couldn't blurt out all that was in her mind, she had very little tact of concealment, and when she replied to Hope's question something about people's being different, and that she knew that some people beat their children for doing things they didn't like them to do, she unwittingly made things quite clear enough to Hope, with her fine, keen intelligence, so clear that she comprehended at once the whole state of the case. What would have happened when this moment of comprehension suddenly came to Hope, what she would have said if there had been time to say anything, it is needless to conjecture, for there wasn't an instant of time for a word, as at that very moment, pouf, pouf, pouf, the train steamed into the station, and Dolly Dering and her friend Lily ran scampering down the platform.

Hope looked after them, with eyes blinded by hot, angry tears. The last few minutes had been a revelation to her of the thoughtless misunderstandings of the world. To think that she—Hope Benham—should be ranked with that vast ignorant class of "poor people" who "lived anyhow," all because she was selling flowers in a public place! "They might have known better, if they had any sense; they might have known at a glance!" And with this indignant thought, Hope went into the ladies' waiting-room, and surveyed herself in the mirror that hung there. What did she see? A bright-faced girl, clean and fresh, with neatly braided hair; clothed in a little fawn-colored jacket, a brown dress, and with a pretty plain brown felt hat upon her head. To be sure, she wore no gloves; but her hands were nicely kept, the nails well cut and rosily clean. To mix her up with poor people who "lived anyhow"! Perhaps they fancied, those girls, that the fawn-colored jacket and the brown dress and the hat were given to her,—gifts of charity! Yes, that was what they fancied, of course. They had talked her over. "Is that your wonderful flower-girl?" she had overheard the younger girl say to the older. She had been called this because she was dressed decently, because she behaved herself decently. They couldn't understand—these rich people—how any one who sold flowers, who sold anything—on the street—yes, that was what they called it—could be decent. Oh, it was they who were ignorant,—these rich people! They didn't know anything about other people's lives,—other people who were not rich like themselves.

Hope's little purse was full of shining silver pieces as she went back to Riverview, but her heart was fuller of bitterness.

"You look tired, Hope," said her mother, anxiously, as Hope walked into the house. But Hope declared that she was not in the least tired, that it was only the tiresomeness of some of her customers,—fussy folk, who picked and pecked and asked questions. Not a word more did she say. She was not going to worry her mother, hurt her feelings as hers had been hurt with the foolish, ignorant talk of those foolish, ignorant, rich girls,—not she! So she comforted herself by counting up her silver pieces, and reckoning how much nearer she was to the "good little fiddle." She tried to keep the little fiddle and the sweet strain the shopkeeper had drawn from it, continually in her mind, as she stood in the station again that night on the arrival of the 5.30 train. The good little fiddle, with the sweet strain, should be the shield against tormenting questioners and questions. But she was not to be tormented that night by any one.

Dolly Dering did not even look at her, as she skipped by. Dolly was too eager to secure a place beside her father on the front seat of the carriage, as they drove home, to see or think about anything else. Even Mary Dering did not find time, as she went by, to cast an interested glance towards that "wonderful flower-girl." There were plenty of purchasers, however, without the little matinÉe group,—ladies and gentlemen just returning from shopping or business,—plenty of purchasers; and Hope went home with only the sweet sense of success stirring at her heart,—a success unalloyed by any new bitterness. She had not needed a shield against tormentors. Thursday and Friday were equally pleasant and fairly profitable. Saturday would, of course, be the best day of all, and bring her sales up to almost if not quite the desired amount. But she dreaded Saturday, for she was quite sure that "that girl" would be at the station, and she could not help keeping a nervous look-out from the moment she took her stand in her chosen corner. The 12.35, the 1, and the 1.15 trains, however, went in, and Dolly was not to be seen. If she was not on the 1.40 train, there was little danger, Hope thought, that she would be there at all, for the 1.40 was the last early afternoon train. The next was 3.30, and Hope would be back at Riverview by that time, preparing another stock of flowers for her 5.30 sale. Just before the 1.40 steamed in, Hope heard a gay chatter of voices. There she was! But no; a glance at the party sufficed to show that Dolly Dering was not one of the party, and Hope drew a deep breath of relief. The week would end without further annoyance, and with such a heap of bright silver pieces.