arranged with exquisite taste and neatness; then took her work-basket,
in which lay a variety of little infant's socks, and fine fleecy
under-garments, knit of zephyr worsted, which looked so pure and soft
that even she touched them daintily, as she lifted them out to find her
needles, and sat down by the fire. "Now for a _nubae_," she said,
throwing on stitch after stitch; "ladies who frequent theatres and
balls find them indispensable: _this_ shall be the handsomest one of
the season--worth, at least four dollars."




CHAPTER III.

THE MORNING ERRAND.

After the slender ivory needles had traversed the fleecy mesh backwards
and forwards some three or four times, May suddenly bethought herself
of Helen, and laying her work carefully down in her basket, she ran
upstairs to see if she was awake. Turning the knob of the door softly,
she entered with a noiseless step, and went towards the bed; but a low,
merry laugh, and a "good morning," assured her that her kind caution
had all been needless.

"Dear Helen, how are you to-day?"

"Very well, thank you, little lady, how do you do, and what time is it?"

"Half-past nine. You need your breakfast, I am sure. Shall I fetch it
to you?"