"I never saw you but once, Mrs. Hyde, and that was a great while ago, when I lived at Mrs. Ardley's," Lucy paused, but Mrs. Hyde shook her head, and Lucy proceeded to refer to the conversation that she had then heard, to the circumstances Mrs. Hyde had recounted, and occasionally to the very words she had uttered, and finally reminding her of her own exclamation, "how much like mother she does talk!" she succeeded in recalling the image of the little girl, whose identity, though grown a head taller, she perceived. The most accomplished flatterer could not have devised a more ingenious mode of approach than Lucy, in her simplicity, had adopted. "I thought then, ma'am," she resumed, "that if ever I should have to apply to a stranger for advice and help, I should wish it were you."
"But why is it necessary for you to come to a stranger? You should have made friends before this time of life."
"I have friends, ma'am—real friends, that I could go to in any trouble," replied Lucy, her face brightening with a just pride, "but they are all a great way off—all, but one."
"Why not go to that one?"
"I did not feel as if that would be best, ma'am," she replied, casting down her eyes, and blushing so deeply that Mrs. Hyde, pitying her embarrassment, told her to proceed with her story. Lucy briefly sketched what the reader already knows: her mother's troubles, her different service-places, and finished by relating, fairly, every particular of the unfortunate affair at Mrs. Hartell's. Mrs. Hyde listened as a good judge listens to the tes-
