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“No one ever suited me so well, and if you were not a lady, you might make a fortune as a milliner, for you have the taste of a Frenchwoman,” said Mrs. Barlow, adding, as she took her cap off, “Don’t you remember how offended Madame Pigat was when she found out that you altered all her caps before I wore them, and how she took some of your hints and got all the credit of them?”

“Yes, mamma,” was all Clara answered, and then sat working so silently that it was evident her thoughts were as busy as her hands. Presently she said, “I must go down to our big box for the ribbon, there is none here that I like,” and, taking a bunch of keys, she went slowly away.

In the large parlor below stood several trunks and cases belonging to Mrs. Barlow, and left there for her convenience, as the room was unlet.

Clara opened several of these, and rapidly turned over their contents, as if looking for something beside pale pink ribbon. Whatever it was she appeared to find it, for, dropping the last lid with a decided bang, she stood a moment looking about the large drawing-room with such brightening eyes it was evident that they saw some invisible beauty there; then a smile broke over her face, and she ran up stairs to waken her mother from a brief doze, by crying joyfully, as she waved a curl of gay ribbon over her head,–

“I’ve got it, mamma, I’ve got it!”

“Bless the child! what have you got,–a letter?” cried Mrs. Barlow, starting up.

“No; but something better still,–a new way to get a living. I’ll be a milliner, and you shall have as many caps as you like. Now don’t laugh, but listen; for it is a splendid idea, and you shall have all the credit of it, because you suggested it.”

“I’ve materials enough,” she continued, “to begin with; for when all else went, they left us our finery, you know, and now we can live on it instead of wearing it. Yes, I’ll make caps and sell them, and that will be both easier and pleasanter than to go out teaching and leave you here alone.”

“But how can you sell them?” asked her mother, half bewildered by the eagerness with which the new plan was unfolded.

“That’s the best of all, and I only thought of it when I was among the boxes. Why not take the room below and lay out all our fine things temptingly, instead of selling them one by one as if we were ashamed of it?

“As I stood there just now, I saw it all. Mrs. Smith would be glad to let the room, and I could take it for a month, just to try how my plan works; and if it does go well, why can I not make a living as well as Madame?”

“But, child, what will people say?”

“That I’m an honest girl, and lend me a hand, if they are friends worth having.”

Mrs. Barlow was not convinced, and declared she would hide herself if any one came; but after much discussion consented to let the trial be made, though predicting utter failure, as she retired to her sofa to bewail the sad necessity for such a step.

Clara worked busily for several days to carry into execution her plan; then she sent some notes to a dozen friends, modestly informing them that her “opening” would take place on a certain day.

“Curiosity will bring them, if nothing else,” she said, trying to seem quite cool and gay, though her heart fluttered with anxiety as she arranged her little stock in the front parlor.

In the bay-window was her flower-stand, where the white azaleas, red geraniums, and gay nasturtiums seemed to have bloomed their loveliest to help the gentle mistress who had tended them so faithfully, even when misfortune’s frost had nipped her own bright roses. Overhead swung a pair of canaries in their garlanded cage, singing with all their might, as if, like the London ‘prentice-boys in old times, they cried, “What do you lack? Come buy, come buy!”