“She is not a girl of that kind,” cried another, warmly. “She is the prettiest girl in this house to-night, and you all know it.”
“Yes, stick up for her, Sally Perkins. We know why. When you had the measles so bad she lost three days work sitting up with you and waiting on you.”
“Thank Heaven she did,” cried Sally, earnestly. “I might have died before one of you would have done as much for me. She is a living angel if ever there was one. So there now. I’ll never speak to a girl that breathes a word against her so long as I live.”
“Good for Sally Perkins,” cried a dozen in a breath, for more than one in that crowd of girls had received kindness from Hattie Butler when kindness was so much needed.
And the battle of tongues grew less and less, and soon tea was over, and the girls scattered as usual. Some to their rooms, weary enough to go right to rest—others to linger a little while in the old parlor and get others to fix up their scanty wardrobe so as to be ready for their only day of rest or pleasure—the blessed Sunday so near at hand—but one day of toil to intervene.
Our heroine—where was she? In her little chamber thanking her Heavenly Father that at last the stern strife for daily bread was made easier to her, and that a glimmer of light could be seen through the dark clouds of poverty.
Pure-hearted and innocent, she did not dream that any one could so envy her good fortune as to hate her for it. If she had she would have prayed God to forgive them.
CHAPTER V.
DOES HE LOVE HER?
Mr. W——, one of the proprietors of the bindery where our heroine worked—a junior partner, but the chief manager of the concern, was a single man, not yet forty, in the very prime of life. He was, as a man, not as a fop, very good-looking. His stalwart frame, well-developed, showed his American birth; but his full, round, rosy face spoke also of his English paternity. He had thus far in life been too busy to think of matrimony, and, living with his parents, who were in easy circumstances, he had never known the want of a home, or the need of a wife to make home bright. His sisters, of whom he had two, considerably younger than himself, had ever seen to his linen—his tailor looked to his wardrobe—he had little to trouble himself about. He belonged to a coterie or club of bachelors, and was never at a loss about a place to spend his evenings in.
But that day, when the wealthy and influential Mr. Legare had told Hattie Butler that she deserved to be in a higher sphere, had opened Mr. W——’s eyes—opened them to the wonderful beauty as well as the surprising talent of the girl who had worked at low wages without a murmur for over two years in his shop.