I
haven't a relative in the world; nor a home, except in a boarding-house;
and the girls I know all treat me cool, as though I had done something
bad, because I've lost my place, I suppose, and am poor.
"All along, at times, Mr. Snipe has been sending me things,--bouquets,
and baskets of fruit, and sometimes a note, and, though I won't speak to
him when I meet him on the street, he always smiles and bows as if he
were intimate; and last night, when I was coming home, tired enough from
my long search, he passed me and said, with such a look, 'You've gone
down a peg or two, haven't you, Sallie? Come, I guess we'll be friends
again before long.' You think it's queer I'm telling you all this. I
can't help it; there's something about you that draws it all out of me.
I came to ask you for work, and here I've been talking all this while
about myself. You must excuse me; I don't think I would have said so
much, if you hadn't looked so kind and so interested"; and so she
had,--kind as kind could be, and interested as though the girl who
talked had been her own sister.
"I am glad you came, Sallie, and glad that you told me all this, if it
has been any relief to you. You may be sure I will do what I can for
you, but I am afraid that will not be a great deal, here; for I am a
stranger in New York, and know very few people. Perhaps--Would you go
away from here?"
"Would I?--O wouldn't I? and be glad of the chance.
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