MOLLY'S CHANGE OF SCENE

'HERE isn't a thing tempts her, Norah."

"Couldn't she eat the broiled chicken I brought her mother, nor the jelly?"

"She just picked at them; that's all. She's that listless, dearie, that she'll take no interest. The doctor says she does be needin' a change; but what change can we give her?"

"If she'd only brace up, mother!"

"Yes, that's what your father says. He's got no patience with Molly. He says I've spoiled her, and maybe I have; but since she left the high school and couldn't go to college, Molly's been more dead than alive. The only thing ever she wanted was education, an' I tried to get it for her, God knows—and she so clever, too—but it couldn't be managed. Then she had that fall, the first day in the factory, and since then she doesn't care what 'comes of her. give a year of my life to help the child. It's a heartbreak to see her fading away; but what can I do? She's thin as a ghost now."

I'd

Tears came into Norah's eyes. She was big and homely, with coarse, red hands, and the strength of an ox. She tossed off her work in the laundry at the beautiful big house where she lived, as if washing were merely blowing soap-bubbles. It was child's play to her, and her merry laugh rang out over the tubs, and her jests almost set the cook and housemaid into fits as she hung out the clothes, or brought in great baskets of them to be sprinkled and rolled up for the ironing.

The one bit of poetry in Norah's life was her delicate sister Molly, the youngest of her mother's nine children,

the one who had been coddled from babyhood, and who was pining away because she could not do as she wanted to, and had to take up a life she loathed, and there was no chance to get her the change that would save her.

Poor girls have no business with nervous exhaustion. Molly had come honestly by hers. At the high school she had not only worked far beyond her strength, but she had been worn out in the effort to conceal her people and her poverty from her schoolmates. Her simple dresses were few enough, but they were as nice as those the others wore; and at graduation, somehow, she had contrived to have as dainty a white gown and as beautiful ribbons as any one else. Norah had seen to that. The old mother and father and Norah had modestly kept in the background on commencement night.

Little did her parents dream that she was so desperately ashamed of them, that she wouldn't for the whole world. have had the girls know that she belonged to them. With infinite pains she had avoided intimacies, and kept to herself, lest the class should suspect her of any connection with Pat Montgomery, who drove a truck for the woollen mill.

Once when a heavy rain had come up suddenly, her mother had ventured to bring her an umbrella and overshoes to the school, Molly had taken them with a brief thank you, and had not explained when one of the girls said: "Well, Molly, you are fortunate. Our Bridget would not condescend to bring my rain-coat or umbrella, if it were to save me from consumption."

When Patrick put down his big foot at last that Molly must earn her living like the rest, that she might learn the typewriter, or go into a shop, or into the mill, being in his view no better than other girls, and the pressure of his long struggle having begun to tell on his health and strength, Molly collapsed. She thought she should die. She slipped on the factory floor and was badly hurt. Not badly enough, though, to account for her going to pieces

as she did. Patrick was angry with her; his wife was broken-hearted; the big brothers were puzzled and pitiful, and Norah came over evenings and coaxed and consoled, all to no purpose.

Molly sat all day long in a rocking-chair, moping and languid, looking like a broken lily. Now the doctor said she must have a change. Norah went home disconsolate. Two days later, Norah came back, bursting into the little house like a whirlwind, in the middle of the morning.

"Mother," she said, "Molly can have a change. The family's all off to Europe, the servants are gone, and I'm left to be caretaker. I'll take the child to stay with me. She'll be a different girl after eight weeks at The Birches: you see if she isn't."

“But, Norah, would your lady be willing?" "I asked her, and she said, 'Yes, certainly. You see they've gone in a hurry. It wasn't thought of till two days ago. And I'm in sole charge."

Hurriedly Molly's things were thrown into a suitcase, a cab was summoned, and Norah hustled her sister away to the great house where she had spent the last six years, a trusted and efficient helper. Little did the owners of The Birches imagine that Norah had taken leave of her conscience and was now about to prove it, by an act that seemed in her view justifiable. She meant to save Molly's life, and she thought Providence had shown her the way.

Molly leaned back in the cab and languidly dropped her eyes, until they had turned in at the stone gates of the avenue that led to the house. The ascent was steep but well graded, and the driver stopped several times to rest his horse on the way up. He drove around to the back, and Norah paid his fare, and, unlocking the kitchen door, brought Molly inside.

"Come with me, sweetheart," she said. room all ready and waiting."

"I've your

It was not to the part of the house where Nora slept

that she conducted Molly. She piloted her up the broad polished stairs, her strong arm half lifting her.

"You'll have this room, darlin'," she said.

But Molly was aroused at this.

"Why, Norah, what do you mean? this room. It's a guest chamber."

I can't stay in

“Well, what if it is? It's not exactly a guest-chamber. It's Miss Emily's room, and she's away for a year. You'll do it no harm, and it'll do you good, and there's only our two selves in the house, and we'll have no more words. Miss Emily's always wantin' to help the poor, so I'm givin' her a chance; that's the whole of it."

Miss Emily's room was the prettiest that Molly had ever seen. She realized the enormity of her being in it when the owner was absent, but the temptation had come on her suddenly, and she thought there would be no harm in staying there just one day. For the great, beautiful room was flooded with sunshine. A soft carpet like green moss covered the floor. The bedstead was of shining brass; the furnishing was all white and gold. Books were in the cases and on hanging shelves. Exquisite pictures were on the walls. One sunk into the depths of the chairs. There was a desk with paper and pens, a divan heaped with cushions, and a bathroom tiled with white and gleaming with silver fittings. Molly Montgomery drew a deep breath of delight.

This was her element. Here was where she belonged. For the first time in weeks she held herself erect and surveyed her slender figure in the long pier-glass.

Norah brought her luncheon on a tray covered with a white napkin, and she ate with enjoyment, sitting beside an open window looking down on a rose-garden.

"But, Norah, you are all wrong. I can't stay here. Why did we have to be poor, Norah, and daddy so common, and everybody so mean?"

But here Norah's quick Irish temper took fire.

"The good Lord forgive you, Molly, for daring to call your father common. It's common you are to have the black thought! I'm sure you'll meet misfortune running your way with a bow if you don't mend your manners. There, honey, there!" as she saw Molly flush and then turn pale, "never mind, we've spoiled you among us and that's the truth."

A week passed, flying swiftly, and Molly had lost her delicate appetite and gained the look of health. She slept in the big, beautiful room, in the luxurious bed, between sheets of fine linen; she read Miss Emily's books, she walked in the rose-garden and felt herself to be an enchanted princess. Norah waited on her, hand and foot, in the intervals of keeping the house aired and clean. The men who came on errands supposed Molly to be a relative of Norah.

One day, never to be forgotten by her later, she carried out the idea of the enchanted princess more fully. Miss Emily's closets were empty, but there was a chest in the room which Molly had the curiosity to open. It proved to be filled with exquisitely embroidered garments, some white, others softly tinted. Yielding to an impulse, Molly dressed herself in the pretty clothes, finishing with a kimona in faint blue, with shadowy roses straying over it.

She surveyed herself in the glass with pride. She was a vision of beauty with her black hair in a heavy coil, her deep blue eyes, her graceful, girlish figure. She meant only to look and then put away the borrowed finery, when her heart stood still.

In the mirror she saw, entering the doorway, some one she knew. A short, stout figure, with hair turning gray; a severe person in a plain black dress, who advanced, exclaiming: "Why, Molly Montgomery! What on earth are you doing here in my Cousin Emily's room, and in her kimona ?"

If the floor could have opened and swallowed her, Molly