steps were taken in the right direction.

So every morning Dora sat on the school-bench studying diligently, and
every afternoon on a little chair close to the seamstress' knee, sewing on
a big shirt that made her very warm and uncomfortable.

The mornings were not unpleasant; for she was in the company of other
children who were all studying, and Dora was ambitious and willing to
learn. So the hours flew quickly, for she was too busy to dwell much on
the loss of her dear father, and to think that he was gone forever. But
the afternoons were truly dreadful. She must sit through the long hot
hours, close by the seamstress, almost smothered by the big piece of
cotton cloth, which her little fingers could hardly manage, and she grew
restless and irritable, for her hands were moist, and the needle refused
to be driven through the thick cloth. How often she glanced up at the
clock on the wall during those long hours, when the minute hand was surely
stuck at half-past three, and the regular tic-tac seemed to fill the
quiet room with its sleepy droning. So hot, so still, so long were the
hours of those summer afternoons!

The silence was broken now and then by the sounds of a distant piano.
"What a happy child that must be!" thought little Dora, "who can sit at
the piano and practise exercises, and all sorts of pretty tunes!" She
could think of nothing more delightful; she listened with hungry ears, and
drank in every note that reached her. In the narrow street where the
seamstress lived she could hear the music distinctly, for no wagons
passed, and the voices of foot-passengers did not reach up so high as to
her room. So Dora listened to the sweet melodies which were her only
refreshment during those hot long hours, and even the running scales were
a pleasure to her ear. But then the thought of her father came back to