"
"Ain't ear-rings stylish?" asked Nance, feeling that she had been
misinformed.
"Not on a little companion," said Mrs. Purdy gently.
Nance's elation over the prospect of a job was slightly dashed by
the idea of returning to the wornout childish garb in which she had
left the home.
"Say, Dan," she said, as they made their way out of Butternut Lane, "do
you think I've changed so much--like Mrs. Purdy said?"
"You always look just the same to me," Dan said, as he helped her on with
her coat and adjusted the collar with gentle, painstaking deference.
She sighed. The remark to a person who ardently desired to look different
was crushing.
"I think Mrs. Purdy's an awful old fogey!" she said petulantly by way of
venting her pique.
Dan looked at her in surprise, and the scowl that rarely came now
darkened his face.
"Mrs. Purdy is the best Christian that ever lived," he said shortly.
"Well, she ain't going to be a Christian offen me!" said Nance.
The next morning, in a clean, faded print, and a thin jacket, much too
small for her, Nance went forth to find Miss Lucretia Bobinet in Cemetery
Street. It was a staid, elderly street, full of staid, elderly houses,
and at its far end were visible the tall white shafts which gave it its
name. At the number corresponding to that on Nance's card, she rang the
bell. The door was opened by a squinting person who held one hand behind
her ear and with the other grasped the door knob as if she feared it
might be stolen.
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