Cicely and Other Stories

Transcriber's Note:

These stories first appeared in the Youth's Companion and Forward . The author wishes to acknowledge the courtesy of the editors in permitting her to republish them in the present volume.
Messrs. L.C. Page & Company wish also to acknowledge the courtesy of the editors, by which they were able to arrange for the use of the original illustrations.




There was a noisy whir of sewing-machines in Madame Levaney's large dressmaking establishment. Cicely Leeds's head ached as she bent over the ruffles she was hemming. She was the youngest seamstress in the room, and wore her hair hanging in two long braids.
It seemed a pity that such girlish shoulders should be learning to stoop, and that her eyes had to bear such a constant strain. The light was particularly bad this afternoon. Every curtain was rolled to the top of its big window, but the dull December sky was as gray as a fog. Even the snow on the surrounding housetops looked gray and dirty in the smoky haze.
Now and then Cicely looked up from her work and glanced out of the window. The cold grayness of the outdoor world made her shiver. It was a world of sooty chimney-tops as she saw it, with a few chilly sparrows huddled in a disconsolate row along the eaves. It would soon be time to be going home, and the only home Cicely had now was a cheerless little back bedroom in a cheap boarding-house. She dreaded going back to it. It was at least warm in Madame Levaney's steam-heated workrooms, and it was better to have the noise and confusion than the cold solitude.
Cicely's chair was the one nearest the entrance to the parlour where madame received her customers, and presently some one passing through the door left it ajar. Above the hum of the machines Cicely could hear a voice that she recognised. It was that of Miss Shelby, a young society girl, who was one of madame's wealthiest customers.