THE INDIA SHAWL.

There was one person, however, who was so deeply interested in the shawl, that she did not sleep all night. This person was little Rhoda Weeks. That afternoon she had reached home after a hard day's work, and was preparing tea for her father and little brother, who had gone out on the promised tramp into the country, when a low knock brought her to the door. There stood Mrs. Holt, with anxiety in her face, hesitating and panting for breath, for the effort of mounting so many stairs had been too much for her strength, active as she still was.

"Oh, ma'am! Oh, lady! I—I am so glad to see you! Please walk in and sit down. I'm so sorry father is away, and Luke, too. It would be nuts and apples for them to see you here."

The active little thing dusted a chair, which was neat enough to require no such service, and placed it near the window.

Mrs. Holt looked around the nice little room with a faint smile on her lips. Spite of the anxiety which had brought her there, she could not but recognize, with a sensation of pleasure, the exquisite neatness which surrounded her. The table had not yet been drawn from the wall, and Rhoda, on a kneading-board, white as wood is ever scoured, had been moulding a little mound of dough into tea-biscuits. There was flour on her hands when she lifted them in surprise at the coming of her visitor, and a ridge of whiteness across the linen apron that almost covered her tiny person. But she began to rub the flour from her hands, and untie her apron the moment her guest was seated, and was preparing herself to sit in prim hospitality during the remainder of Mrs. Holt's visit, but that lady bade her go on with her work and not heed her in the least. Rhoda hesitated a moment, rolled up her sleeves again, revealing two plump baby arms to the shoulder, and plunged into her work with fresh vigor.

"Isn't it pleasant sitting there at the window, with the sky so close, ma'am?" she said, cutting off a fragment of dough, and rolling it into a dainty ball between her small hands. "That is Luke's seat; the sunset is just coming on, and you'll see how grand it is, red,—and blue, and green."

Here Rhoda stopped talking long enough to put her biscuit on a row with half a dozen others, that rounded up from a tin pan on the table, and patted it down, with her head on one side, like a canary-bird examining its seed. When the biscuit entirely suited her, she ran on again.

"Isn't it lovely, I mean, to have any one enjoy things as Luke does? He sees bridges, and castles, and lakes up there, just as if such things could be built out of fire! Now I never could make out anything but the red, and purple, and yellow colors; but he——"

Rhoda paused, and looked around suddenly.

"Why, ma'am, it seems as if you were in trouble, or something. Wait till I get this pan into the stove, and then, mebby, you'll tell me all about it."

She took the biscuit between her hands, opened the oven, thrust it in with haste, and fastened the door, twisting one corner of her apron over the hand she was using to keep it from the hot iron. Then she crept up to the window and lifted her honest eyes to the woman.

"Now tell me, please? I—I hope it isn't any trouble about—about paying that——"

Mrs. Holt winced visibly, for that obligation had been the last thing in her mind.

"No," she said, and the color came into her face. "I hope you are not in want of it yet, Rhoda?"

"No, no!" was the earnest protest.

"And I am in great want of more money, little Rhoda."

Rhoda's eyes fell. There was very little of her money in the savings-bank now, and she did not know what to say.

"If I had it—if I only had it," she cried out, in absolute distress.

"Not from you. It is not your money that I want, poor child!" said Mrs. Holt, touched to the heart; "but if you would help me sell something."

"Won't I? Won't I?" cried the child, sparkling all over. "Just tell me what it is—that's all."

"Could you sell the shawl I have on, for me, Rhoda, without letting any one know about it?"

"Of course, I could," answered Rhoda, eyeing the shawl with wistful distrust; "but I'm afraid it wouldn't amount to much, 'tain't so bright as some I've seen, and—Well, I'll do my best; but you mustn't be disappointed if it doesn't bring more than five or ten dollars."

"Five or ten dollars? Why, child, it is worth two thousand!"

Rhoda fell back a step in dumb amazement, her mouth open, her eyes widening. Then she broke out,

"Two thousand dollars! Oh, jimmy! you are making fun of me. Just as if I could believe that."

"But I do expect you to believe it. This is a very valuable shawl, Rhoda, and well worth the money I mention."

Rhoda pursed her plump mouth into a rose-bud, and sent an unbelieving whistle slowly through it, which ended in,

"Oh! don't, don't! I wouldn't have believed it of you, Mrs. Holt."

"But it is the truth; I have no idea of joking. Come here, and I will tell you all about it. This is not woven in a loom like other shawls, Rhoda."

"Isn't it, marm," said Rhoda, who was beginning to feel a certain respect for the shawl.

"No, indeed; it is worked by hand, you see. It would take ever so many persons a whole year to make this one shawl."

"You don't say so!" cried Rhoda, now fully interested.

"And all these people have to be paid, you know?"

"Yes, of course."

"And it is this time and labor which makes up the price."

"Yes; a year's work is worth money, especially if a good many people are in it."

"This work supports whole families."

"Well, it's queer; but I should a thought all these people working together a whole year might a made something a little more scrumptious, shouldn't you now? According to my notion this isn't anything over particular in the way of beauty; but then the work."

"Well, child, now that I have told you this, can you sell it for me?"

"What, me? For two thousand dollars?"

"I said it was worth so much; but we must take less."

"I reckon so; a great deal less."

"I dare say some of the dealers with whom you trade will understand its value."

"Shouldn't wonder; they're mighty cute."

"If you could find the way to any rich lady now. There isn't another shawl equal to this in the country, I am sure. Do you know any one?"

"Not to think of this minute."

"But you will try?"

"Yes, I will. It's a big thing—but I'll do it."

"Then I will leave the shawl with you—take good care of it."

Mrs. Holt unwound the costly fabric from her shoulders, and laid it down in a rich heap on one of the chairs. For a moment the pressure of necessity was forgotten, and, casting a long, wistful look on this last remnant of her former splendor, she turned away, sighing heavily.

"Don't feel bad about it," said little Rhoda, huddling the gorgeous mass in her arms, and carrying it into her own little bed-room; "the money will be worth ever so much more. You can do anything with that."

"Yes," answered the lady, clasping her hands in an ecstacy of expectation, "it will carry me to _him_."

A person had met Mrs. Holt going up that long flight of stairs, and made way for her as a richly-dressed lady; but when she went down, the same person jostled her carelessly, for all the neat poverty of her dress was exposed, and the lady of half an hour before had disappeared, to that coarse nature. So Constance Hudson stood directly in Mrs. Holt's way as she went down stairs, and made an imperious motion that she should stand aside and let her pass.

Mrs. Holt looked in that handsome face an instant, reached forth her hand and put the girl gently aside; so gently and firmly, that the young creature blushed with unconscious shame, and shrunk back against the wall, muttering faint apologies.

But directly Constance felt her temper rise. She had been put down without really knowing how. What did it mean? Where had her spirit gone? Who was the woman with gray hair on her head, and worse clad than herself who had struck her so suddenly with self-abasement?

Mrs. Holt looked back as she reached the foot of the stairs, and gazed upon the girl, where she stood gathering up her subdued wrath, and stooping downward like an angry hawk poising itself. There was something in the physical beauty of the creature that fascinated her with a sort of fear rather than admiration. She could neither understand the feeling, or flee from it, for all day long the face of that girl haunted her with a sense of evil.