"We allus called her 'little Mollie," says the older of the two. "She was a smart girl; but they was hard up and went away, and after they had went, these young ones cried and cried for little Mollie." The "young ones," creeping to Pearl's side, now sit clinging to her dress. Pearl takes the babe upon her

knee.

"Laws, lady," the mother exclaims, "as natural as though you was its mother.

Mollie's, too, was you?"

And you was a friend of

"I am anxious, oh, so very anxious to find her! Did they say where they were going?"

"They didn't say nothing except as they was going to hunt for work."

"Or when they would return?”

"You see they couldn't come back, because they was out of money and the rent was too high, and landlords don't wait for us poor folks."

"And didn't they have the money to pay their rent, and were they obliged to leave?" says Pearl.

"Laws, lady, they was a month behind, and landlords don't have no sympathy for us folks as is poor."

Oh, how the money in her pocket burns! Oh, how her heart burns and her soul tingles with the thought that this money sent in time might have prevented all!

Exacting many faithful promises that she shall be informed of all they hear of little Mollie, she says "good-by." She enters where "Ladies' Aid Society" is printed on the door, and where a formal little lady can tell her nothing, but enters her name in a book, and Mollie's too, and then directs her to an intelli

gence office around the corner, where a talkative man with a squinting eye enumerates all the important discoveries which it would be possible for his bureau to make, tells how long it has been in existence, relates some of its wonderful achievements, growing enthusiastic over each, and closing each with the remark, "Well, it is the way of the world," as though he were not a part of it, but some supernatural intelligence keeping track of it all.

The throbbing messenger of iron and steam moves away from the receding city. Again the retreating towers, retreating spires. Again the network of telegraph wires. Again village shading into country and country shading into town. Again the labyrinth of woods, where withered leaves lie hidden and where paths are lost. Again, acres of level land where the eye stretches until all grows dim, and longs to pierce still farther beyond the limits of human vision.

The snowflakes are coming in battalions now, as sorrows come; but beneath them all the warm earth holds the seeds of flowers that are to be; and so the sorrows falling on the sensitive soul but melt and fructify the seeds of human kindness nestling there.

Ah, Pearl, would that the sorrows might ever fall as lightly on thee as fall the snowflakes now!

CHAPTER X.

"Smiles, false smiles, should form the school
For those who rise and those who rule;
The brave they trick, the fair subdue,

Kings deceive and states undo!
Smiles! False smiles!"

-OLD SONG.

The fifth evening after the party found Oliver seated in Miss Villars' parlor. Mr. Wines sat opposite him. "So it was not the punch; I really heard a cry," said Oliver.

"Do you think so?" said Ilva, frowning. "How disagreeable!"

"Did you see her?" he asked.

"No, indeed; I ran. It is unpleasant enough to have to read and hear about such things," she answered. "Did your father know her?" Oliver asked, a little nervously.

"Why, no. It was some poor woman, you know. Did you not hear about the inquest? They came to the startling conclusion that the deceased was dead. Nobody knew her. I suppose, though, it troubles your conscience because you listened to my tempting voice instead of listening again for the cry."

"I did regret that I had not been more thoughtful," he answered.

"I have a very comfortable philosophy on all such occasions," said Mr. Wines, with a slight drooping of the eyelids and with a superior smile, which, without

much change of facial expression, could easily have been converted into a sneer. "I never worry over a thing that is done. Bentham said that if we would find the balance between pleasure and pain, we would find the balance between right and wrong. In turning a deaf ear to everything painful, and in ministering to my own rational pleasure, I calculate that I am doing right."

Oliver thought that this was about the ugliest picture of "rational pleasure" he had seen, and answered quickly:

"Different people have different ideas of rational pleasure. It was a pleasure to Augustus to find Rome of brick and leave it of marble. It was a pleasure to Nero to see Rome burn. It is a pleasure to one to sacrifice for another. It is a pleasure to some men to get drunk and pound their wives. It would be safe to say that their wives have a different idea of pleas

"Men are not responsible," Mr. Wines returned, "for their make-up. I do not blame a man because his eyes are color blind or because his conscience is color-blind, because he is cross-eyed or does not see moral questions the way I do."

It may be said that, though Mr. Wines had been quoting Bentham ever since he was in college in defense of his own actions, he was not by any means so lenient toward the faults of others as his remarks at this time would indicate. Like a good many philosophers who hold to the "selfish theory of morals," he was quite selfish with it.

"That is good philosophy," said Oliver, "not to blame people, but still the cross-eyed path is not

straight. Nevertheless, there is a straight path-in morals too. The man who is color-blind is not to be blamed for thinking the grass red. Nevertheless, that does not make the grass red. The lady who appeared in public with one glove brown and one glove red was to be pitied; but that does not make her gloves match."

"What is right under certain circumstances is wrong under others," returned the other.

"Certainly," Oliver answered, "as the problem varies with the factors which compose it; but I believe there is an answer to every moral as to every mathematical problem, and, though it may be difficult, human intelligence should strive to find it.”

"I give you gentlemen warning," Miss Ilva began, "that I do not shine most brilliantly in such conversation as this. Why do you not talk about original sin, baptism, salvation by faith-something lively?"

"Now I insist, Miss Villars," Oliver said, smiling, "that you began this philosophical discussion by saying that you shunned that which was unpleasant."

"Why, is it philosophy to have a good time?" she laughed. "Then I am a philosopher and didn't know it. Is it philosophy to be selfish and always look out for number one? Why, what a jolly old philosopher I am. I always thought that to be a philosopher was to be thick-headed and righteous. There comes papa! Papa, did you know I was a philosopher? We have been discussing. I think Mr. Wines and I agree. Mr. Arkwright is not quite selfish enough yet, but he would soon get so if he divided much with me."

"Ah, you impulsive girl," said the mayor.

"If I may have a few minutes of your time," Mr.