The young girl was familiar to all the ragamuffins of the town slum, and when she sometimes found one gazing wistfully through the fence palings of her mother's old-fashioned garden, she promptly led him around to the kitchen, gave him a plate of food on the back steps, picked him a small bouquet and sent him off half-dazed with her gracious and impetuous kindness.
"Well, my dear, I shall be prepared for anything," exclaimed Mrs.
Harlowe; "but remember that feeding people on the back steps and asking them into the parlor to meet your friends and acquaintances are two different matters altogether." "Don't be afraid, mother," replied Grace.

"You will like Anne as well as I do, once you get to know her.

You must be careful not to frighten her at first.

She is the most timid little soul I ever met." Just then the front gate clicked and two girls strolled up the red-brick walk, their light organdie dresses peeping out from the folds of their long capes.
"Here come Nora and Jessica," cried Grace excitedly, running to the door to meet her friends.
Mrs.Harlowe smiled.

In spite of Grace's sixteen years she was still her little girl.
There was another click at the gate and Mrs.Harlowe saw through the parlor window a little, dark figure, pathetically plain in its shabby coat and hat.
"Poor little soul," thought the good woman.