“Are you acquainted with the Cartwrights?”
“I know of them. They are among our first people,” returned the girl.
“I spent a week in their family a few years ago, and had a very pleasant time,” said Pinky.
“Oh, I'm glad to know that,” remarked the girl. “I'm a stranger here; and if I can't find Mrs. Bray, I don't see what I am to do. A lady from here who was staying at the hotel gave me at letter to Mrs. Bray. I was living at the hotel, but I didn't like it; it was too public. I told the lady that I wanted to learn a trade or get into a store, and she said the city was just the place for me, and that she would give me a letter to a particular friend, who would, on her recommendation, interest he self for me. It's somewhere along here that she lived, I'm sure;” and she took a letter from her pocket and examined the direction.
The girl was fresh and young and pretty, and had an artless, confiding manner. It was plain she knew little of the world, and nothing of its evils and dangers.
“Let me see;” and Pinky reached out her hand for the letter. She put it under her veil, and read,
“MRS. FANNY BRAY, “No. 631——street, “——
“By the hand of Miss Flora Bond.”
“Flora Bond,” said Pinky, in a kind, familiar tone.
“Yes, that is my name,” replied the girl; “isn't this——street?”