"I didn't know thar was one fer girls," said Amarilly. "I'm glad thar's
a way fer me to git eddicated, fer I must hev larnin' afore I kin go on
the stage. Mr. Vedder, the ticket-seller to Barlow's, told me so."

"Amarilly,"--and an earnest note crept into the gay, young voice--"you
may find things that you will like to do more than to go on the stage."

"No!" asserted the youthful aspirant, "Thar ain't nuthin' else I'd like
so well."

"Amarilly, I am going to tell you something. Once, not long ago, I had
the stage fever, but I think I know now there is something--something I
should like better."

"What?" queried Amarilly skeptically.

"I can't tell you now, but you have a long time yet in which to decide
your future. Tell me what I can do to help your mother."

"If you could git us more washin's," exclaimed Amarilly eagerly, "it
would help heaps. We could take in lots more than we do now."

"Let me think. You see we keep a laundress; but--does your mother do up
very fine things--like laces--carefully?"

"She does," replied Amarilly glibly. "She kin do 'em orful keerful, and
we dry the colored stuffs in the shade. And our clo'es come out snow-
white allers, and we never tears laces nor git in too much bluin' or
starch the way some folks does."