dropped from the lady's purse, and she would probably come back to
get it. Ann Eliza, pleased at the idea, sat on behind the counter
and watched the darkening street. She always lit the gas as late
as possible, keeping the box of matches at her elbow, so that if
any one came she could apply a quick flame to the gas-jet. At
length through the deepening dusk she distinguished a slim dark
figure coming down the steps to the shop. With a little warmth of
pleasure about her heart she reached up to light the gas. "I do
believe I'll ask her name this time," she thought. She raised the
flame to its full height, and saw her sister standing in the door.

There she was at last, the poor pale shade of Evelina, her
thin face blanched of its faint pink, the stiff ripples gone from
her hair, and a mantle shabbier than Ann Eliza's drawn about her
narrow shoulders. The glare of the gas beat full on her as she
stood and looked at Ann Eliza.

"Sister--oh, Evelina! I knowed you'd come!"

Ann Eliza had caught her close with a long moan of triumph.
Vague words poured from her as she laid her cheek against
Evelina's--trivial inarticulate endearments caught from Mrs.
Hawkins's long discourses to her baby.

For a while Evelina let herself be passively held; then she
drew back from her sister's clasp and looked about the shop. "I'm
dead tired. Ain't there any fire?" she asked.

"Of course there is!" Ann Eliza, holding her hand fast, drew
her into the back room. She did not want to ask any questions yet: