LITTLE RHODA AS A BUSINESS WOMAN.

As Mrs. Holt sat over her work, thinking these bitter thoughts, a soft step came up the stairs, and a timid knock made her start upright and listen.

"Come in," she said, at last, seating herself with dignity, and fixing her anxious eyes on the door; for she was dreading the face of her landlady, as only a proud woman can dread the person she owes money to. "Come in."

Faint as the words were, they reached Rhoda Weeks, who opened the door and crept through, timidly, looking around as if she dreaded that some third person might be present.

"Ah! you have come again," said Mrs. Holt, brightening out of the apprehension that had seized upon her. "What have you got to sell?"

"Nothing, marm; that is, nothing that I haven't promised to regular customers; but if you please, I—I want; that is, if you wouldn't think anything——"

"Why, Rhoda, what has come over you to blush and stammer in this way?" cried the lady, who had never seen a shade of embarrassment in the child before.

"Me? Oh, nothing! But I want you to do something for me, and—and don't know how to ask it."

"Want something of me?" faltered the lady, thinking of her empty purse. "If I can; but tell me what it is."

"Mrs. Holt, marm, what do you think about savings-banks?"

"Savings-banks, Rhoda?—what a question!"

"As for me," said Rhoda, dropping into her old business tone, "I ain't going to trust 'em. What if they were to break up and go to smash with one's money in their pockets?"

Mrs. Holt laughed a little. This financial conversation with little Rhoda surprised, and, for the moment, amused her.

"But you have no money in any bank, have you, little girl?"

"No, not now—nothing to speak of; that is because I drew it all out this morning—mean to put it in private hands, where it will do——Mrs. Holt, will you just be good enough to keep this fifty dollars for me?"

"Fifty dollars for you, Rhoda? No, no! I will not touch it!"

The proud, and at heart honorable woman, drew back, and put the roll of bank-notes held toward her, back with her hand, almost shuddering under the temptation so suddenly presented before her.

"Don't say that, marm, because I've set my heart on it. You see it is money that I have saved for Luke's education, but it will be a long time before he wants it; and both he and I think that you could take it now, and do what you please with it, and—and pay us just as much back ever so many years from now. I tell you, marm, it's my belief that them banks aren't to be trusted. Only five per cent, interest, just think of it; for my part, I'd rather have nothing—it's just a tantilization. If you would be so kind now!"

Mrs. Holt was sorely tempted. The woman from below stairs had just been up under the influence of a sharp dun from her landlord, and demanded her money with that decision which springs out of a sharp necessity. Mrs. Holt, poor thing! had temporized and promised, while her cheeks grew hot with shame, and her nerves quivering under the pressure of this eternally repeated humiliation; but she knew that the time and means of payment were, to say the least, uncertain, and shrunk from taking the money from that hard-working little creature, who seemed so anxious to be robbed of her small savings.

"No, Rhoda, I cannot take it. You are a dear, good girl, but I—I do not need——That is, I will not deprive you of your money."

"Of course, you don't need it—who ever thought of such a thing?" said Rhoda, fixing her pleading eyes on the lady.

"But it is I—I and Luke that want some one to take care of our money; and—and I think it real unkind—there, I do, after all you did for mother, to give us up, and say you won't help us."

Mrs. Holt walked to the window and looked out; but though the day was fine, everything seemed misty to her. She was making a great sacrifice when she refused Rhoda's money—for never was a poor woman in greater need of it than she was that very moment. A slight rustle of paper, and a noise at the door, made her turn. The room was empty, and lying among the ruined paraphernalia of her work-table, Mrs. Holt saw the roll of bills placed conspicuously.

Then she sat down in her easy-chair, rested her warm cheek against its cushion and began to cry. She had no tears to shed when trouble was upon her, but gratitude brought them out, bright and clear, like the crystal drops that come so easily in childhood. In all the world it seemed as if that little girl were her only friend.

Footsteps on the stairs, that made the nerves of that poor woman quiver, a knock at the door, and Mrs. Wheeler came in, looking half grieved, half angry; forcing herself to act like a women of iron, when she was, in fact, a kindly-hearted person, urged against her will, to be hard and cruel.

"Mrs. Holt," she said, sharply, as if out of patience with herself and every one else, "I cannot help it; the landlord is down upon me harder than ever. If you cannot pay me right away, I—I must have the room."

Mrs. Holt started up in her chair and turned a wild look on the roll of money she had resolved not to touch. She seemed afraid that the landlady would seize upon it, and half reached forth her hand.

Mrs. Wheeler followed that anxious look with her eyes, saw the money, and burst out in a volley of thanks so exuberant and full of joy that Mrs. Holt smiled in spite of herself.

"Oh! I am so glad! It will save me from a world of trouble. I'm so sorry. Did I say anything that was not pleasant, Mrs. Holt? It was not my wish; but sometimes that man drives me so."

Mrs. Holt arose with the dignity of a woman who had thousands at command, and taking up little Rhoda's money, gave it to the woman who reached out her hand, eager to receive it.

"I think that is the amount, Mrs. Wheeler. No, you said nothing very unpleasant, and I can make allowances; only pray be a little more patient the next time. I am not accustomed to these things."

Poor woman, how she strove to cover up the memory of those old wounds to her pride, which never would cease to pain her! Not accustomed to being dunned? God help her; for months and months she had known little else than the shrinking and distress which unpaid debts are sure to bring upon a person of sensitive honor. She had not intended to use that money. It seemed to her scarcely better than robbery to take it without some more certain means of repayment than she possessed—but the thing was done. Rhoda's bank-notes were grasped in Mrs. Wheeler's hands with such eager gratitude that, for a moment, her debtor forgot how the money had been obtained.

After Mrs. Wheeler went out, profuse in thanks and glowing with delight, her lodger threw herself into the easy-chair, and, covering her face with both hands, moaned to herself, "This child, too—this poor child! Am I to ruin everything that comes near me?"