When Alida Armstrong--for that was her maiden name--carried her own and her
mother's work to and from the shops, she often encountered admiring glances.
She was not exactly pretty, but she had the good, refined face which is often
more attractive than the merely pretty one, and she possessed a trim, rounded
figure which she knew how to clothe with taste from the simplest and most
inexpensive materials. Nor did she seek to dress above her station. When
passing along the street, any discerning person would recognize that she was a
working girl; only the superficial would look upon her as a common-place girl.
There was something in her modest air and graceful, elastic carriage which
suggested the thought to many observers, "She has seen better days."

The memory of these days, which had promised immunity from wearing toil,
anxiety, and poverty, was a barrier between the two women and their present
world. Death had bereft them of husband, father, and such property as he had
left had been lost in a bad investment. Learning that they were almost
penniless, they had patiently set about earning honest bread. This they had
succeeded in doing as long as the mother kept her usual health. But the
infirmities of age were creeping upon her. One winter she took a heavy cold
and was very ill. She rallied only temporarily in the milder days of spring.
In the summer's heat her strength failed, and she died.

During her mother's long illness Alida was devotion itself. The strain upon
her was severe indeed, for she not only had to earn food for both, but there
were also doctor's bills, medicines, and delicacies to pay for. The poor girl
grew thin from work by day, watching by night, and from fear and anxiety at
all times. Their scanty savings were exhausted; articles were sold from their
rooms; the few precious heirlooms of silver and china were disposed of; Alida
even denied herself the food she needed rather than ask for help or permit her
mother to want for anything which ministered to their vain hopes of renewed