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Show LAURA STANLY. "Only think of it! A clerk! A saleswoman! It seems to me I'd have work of my fingers to the bone in some other way before I would come to that." said Lizzie Doyle, going to the mirror and readjusting a twenty dollar hat. "So would I. But then, what could she do?" "At least she might have made herself a little less public. If there's anything I despise, it's these saleswomen." "So do I. How much better it would have been to have gone into dressmaking or millinery, or something of that sort. But to stand behind the counter like a man!" "Papa always did like those Stanleys," said Lizzie Doyle, petulantly. "Yes, we all liked them well enough until Mr. Stanley failed, didn't we?" "No, not I, for one. Laura was always so independent in her notions. Don't you remember how hard she studied at school. It does seem as if she foresaw her father's failure." "I wonder she did not try some better position then. She is certainly capable of being something better than a shop girl." "Oh, I believe papa intends to promote her when Mr. Jobley goes west. She will then take Jobley's place as junior book keeper. Think of that for a woman." "That would be better than selling goods. I don't see how she can do that with her refined tastes. Why don't she give lessons, I wonder? It might not bring her in quite so much money, but it would be a deal nicer." "Yes, and then we could recognize her," said Lizzie Doyle. "That's what I was coming to," was the reply of her companion, a small sallow faced girl, elaborately trimmed and flounced. "How are we to treat her now? We have been great friends, you know, that is, when she was in our set," she added, seeing Lizzie's brows darken. "I'll tell you how I shall treat her," responded Lizzie, slowly drawing on a pair of perfumed three-button kid gloves, "precisely as I treat all of papa's clerks. And I should like to see any of them presume!" "Oh, but Laura won't presume! You needn't be afraid of that, she's too proud." "But how can you help it when you go to the store or church? She sits so near us you know." "Of course she'll give up that pew. She can't afford that." "That's precisely what she doesn't mean to do. I heard her say the family must economize somewhere else and keep the pew. Her mother is hard of hearing and could not enjoy the services further back. The children, too, must go to church, that is the last thing, she said, one ought to give up. I heard her say this to your father last Sunday." "How provoking!" said Lizzie, impatiently. "She will always be in our faces. But I shall have nothing to do with her. I know what it is for, the artful minx!-It's to keep near us. She has got into papa's good graces; and Al, too, admires her. She's very plain." "Laura is no beauty," was the reply, "but I don't think she's so very plain. She certainly has lowered herself, though, by going into a store." Thereupon, the two girls went out for their walk. It was nearly twilight that day when Laura Stanley walked briskly home and entered the neat two-story house to which her mother had lately removed such of her household effects as had been spared by the auctioneer. "This is really pleasant," she said, sinking into a chair that had been drawn near to the glowing grate. "I had not idea, mother, that you would soon make the house so home-like." "Are you tired, my dear?" asked her mother, a refined looking woman, as she helped the daughter take off her cloak and hat. "I wish you had chosen something else, my dear." "I don't wish so," said Laura. "There is nothing else would have brought a salary at once. I used to wonder what a certain person would be to me if I were not the rich Mr. Stanley's daughter, and now I know. It's a knowledge worth gaining." "Do you meet many persons you are acquainted with?" asked her mother. "Oh yes, and it's amusing when they come upon my suddenly. O!-It's really ‘is this Miss Stanley?' and then sometimes up go the eye glasses. Then I feel-well, as if I should like to freeze somebody if I could, for a minute. Others see me and make believe they are examining goods, so absorbed are they that they go clear by me without looking up, and pass out in the same way. But such slights don't trouble me. I find out how much true friendship is worth and who, out of all the society ladies I have been in the habit of meeting are true, and who are false." "Then you meet some that are true?" "Yes, indeed, Judge Ager's wife, who always seemed to me so proud and distant, came up to me with a glowing face and fairly congratulated me. She did it like a lady, too, and like a friend. There was nothing patronizing about her. And there were several others to whom my position makes no difference. They prize me for what I am. Yet what a price to pay for learning the value of true friendship," added Laura, with a deep sigh. "I met Aggie Doyle to-day, and she wouldn't speak to me." said Anne, Laura's sister, who had come into the room and overheard the last remark. "Why should they not speak to me, I wonder?" "Because your sister is a clerk in her father's store," said Laura, somewhat bitterly. "That's no reason they should treat me so." the child replied. "Of course it isn't, nor is it any reason why Lizzie, her eldest sister, should ignore me. I liked her so much too. But to-day she came into the store and passed me with such a glance after I had prepared a smile and a welcome for her. Mr. Doyle has been so kind since papa's death, and I looked for better treatment from Lizzie. That I confess, wounded me, and I shall have to meet her so often! But never mind, I must remember my place," she added, "I have to work for my living now-but I will be proud of it! Good bye old life of lazy ease! Good-bye old worthless friends! Your coldness cannot hurt the real me, it is only the worthless young lady of fashion who feels it, and is slowly departing this life." "Have you filled all your invitations?" asked Lizzie's eldest brother, one of the firm of Doyle & Co., some days after the preceding conversation took place. Lizzie was arranging a hundred or more tiny, cream-colored envelopes, which she tied together with some pretty, bright hued ribbon. "I believe so," she replied, with a smile, "I have asked every young lady of my acquaintance, and I think our party will be the finest of the season, if papa will have the carpets taken up in the west rooms and the floors chalked, Rutger will do them for fifty dollars, and you have no idea how beautifully he works." "I think father will not refuse that" her brother replied. "I will speak to him." "Thank you, Al. Then I am sure he will have it done. I have asked him so much that I was almost afraid to ask him for more." "By the by, have you invited Miss Laura Stanley?" her brother asked as he was going out. "Of course not," said Lizzie. "Of course not! and pray why not?" he asked standing still. "Why, Al, what an idea! She wouldn't expect it. Our shop-girl-father's clerk, I wouldn't have her for the world." "Then, if you are sure she would not come you might have sent her an invitation out of compliment," her brother replied. "I don't consider her an acquaintance" said Lizzie, and Al walked out of the room with a shrug of the shoulders. Presently her father came in. "Lizzie I particularly wish you to send a note of invitation to Miss Laura Stanley." "Papa you don't mean it," exclaimed Lizzie, chagrined. "Indeed I do mean it. What, slight the daughter of one of my most cherished friends, because she has come down in the world in a money point of view? I should despise myself for it." "But, papa, she won't come," said Lizzie. "Never mind whether she will or not, write an invitation. I'll take it to her." Lizzie sat down pale and angry to write the note. After her boasting of having "cut the Stanley's," it was very hard to be obliged to invite Laura. Her cheeks grew hot as she indited the polite little missive while she remembered how many times she had ignored her to whom it was addressed. She would have disobeyed if she dared-would even have withheld the note after it was written, had her father not stood by to take it. Later her brother Al came to her. "I should like an invitation, Lizzie, for a young lady of my acquaintance," he said [unreadable]. "Who is she?" "The young lady whom I have asked to be my wife," he said, smiling. "Oh, Al, of course you shall have it! I am to have a sister then? Is she in the city? Will she be sure to come? I'm sure I can't think of any one," and the she paused, puzzled at his shrewd smile. "Do I know her?" she asked. "You used to," he answered. "It is Miss Laura Stanley. "O, Al!" She sank down, covering her face with her hands. "I was afraid she might feel the slight ?? only," he said softly, "that I hurried matters a little. So you need not be afraid now that she will not come. Will you not prepare an invitation?" "I have. Papa has carried it to her. But oh, Al, a clerk!' "A noble woman," said her brother, "who dares to face the sneers of ‘her set,' and take an honest position for the sake of those who are dependent upon her, rather than whine about her dignity, and live upon charity. I wish there were more like her." So Lizzie was forced for once in her life to eat humble pie. |