called an old woman. Then, with a sudden change to gravity, she assured
me that I had been quite right in what I had said about that little
girl. She lived with her parents on a small farm, where no maid was
kept, and the little girl did as much work or more than any maid. She
had to take the cows to pasture and bring them back; she worked in the
fields and helped in the cooking and washing, and came every day to the
town with a basket of butter, and eggs, which she had to deliver at a
number of houses. Sometimes she came twice in a day, usually in a pony-
cart, but when the pony was wanted by her father she had to come on
foot with the basket, and the farm was three miles out. On Sunday she
didn't come, but had a good deal to do at home.

"Ah, poor little slave! No wonder she gazed at you as she did;--she was
thinking how sweet your life must be with people to love and care for
you and no hard work to do."

"And was that what made her stare at me, and not because I had a
nightcap on and was like an old woman talking to a stranger?" This
without a smile.

"No doubt. But you seem to know a great deal about her. Now I wonder if
you can tell me something about this beautiful young lady with an
umbrella coming towards us? I should much like to know who she is--and
I should like to call on her."

"Yes, I can tell you all about her. She is Miss Eva Langton, and lives
at the White House. You follow the street till you get out of the town
where there is a pond at this end of the common, and just a little the
other side of the pond there are big trees, and behind the trees a
white gate. That's the gate of the White House, only you can't see it