help me out of scrapes. I should be at my wit’s end without you. Mother consults you about everything, and the girls obey you, and the boys pay more attention to you than they do to anyone else. Ruth, everybody needs you?”

“They love you best,” Ruth said quietly. And the dark brows wrinkled in wistful fashion.

It was the truth that she was speaking, no empty striving for compliments; but why was it the truth? She worked hard; Mollie idled. She was conscientious, self-sacrificing, and methodical; Mollie knew not the meaning of method, and was frankly selfish on occasions. She worried herself ill about ways and means, and kept sedulously within the bounds of her small allowance; Mollie took no heed for the morrow, and was in a chronic condition of penury or debt.

Despite these striking contrasts, the fact remained, however, that if any member of the household were ill, or had a secret to confide, or a favour to request, they betook themselves to the heedless Mollie, rather than to herself. Dearly as she loved her sister, Ruth felt a little rankling of soreness mingling with her mystification. She did not yet realise the magic power which cheerfulness wields in this world, or the charm of a sunny face and a ready rippling laugh. Hearts turn to the sun as instinctively as plants, and forgive much for the sake of the warmth and glow.

“They love you best,” said Ruth, and honest Mollie did not contradict, but stretched out her hand, and laid it caressingly on her sister’s arm.

“But I love you, and I can’t do without you, Ruth! I couldn’t live alone, for you and I belong to each other. The others are dears in their way; but they are only ‘steps,’ and we two seem so close together. Imagine Attica without you! Imagine going to bed alone, with no one to talk to about the events of the day! What does the horrid old money matter? We always have been poor, and we always shall be. As long as I can remember mother has been in despair about the bills; but we wriggle through somehow, and we shall go on wriggling. It’s horrid of you to talk of going away! Think of me!”

“That’s selfish, Mollie. You are the last person I ought to think of just now. Mother comes first, and the poor old pater, and all those children. It comes to this, that I can’t stand the present state of affairs any longer. I feel ashamed of taking even the pittance we have; and I’m tired of the pittance, too, and want to make money for myself, and not have to think a dozen times over before spending a penny!”

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