MISS BEAN COMES TO LUNCH.


"Oh, dear me, Jean!" sighed Polly. "I do believe there's Miss
Deborah Bean coming down the street."

"What of her?" inquired Jean indifferently.

"Why, if 'tis, she's coming here to lunch. She says all the
hateful things she can think of; and you don't know how queer she
is. I can't help laughing at her; and that makes mamma cross, for
she wants me to be polite to her, because she's old as Methuselah
and poor as Job's turkey."

"I didn't suppose your mother was ever cross," said Jean.

"Oh, she isn't cross, exactly; but sometimes she doesn't like
things as well as others."

"Most people don't," remarked Jean sagely.

Miss Bean's present home was in the poorhouse, from which place of
retreat she made expeditions into the town, at intervals, to visit
her old acquaintances, and among them was Mrs. Adams, for whose
mother she had sewed, during her younger, stronger days. On these
great occasions, she was wont to cast aside the plain gown which
she ordinarily wore, and bring out to the light of day the one
that had for years served as her best when she went into the
institution. Accordingly, it was a strange figure that turned in
at the doctor's gate, and came to a halt before the two girls who