SUSAN GRAY, 37

While my mind was filled with these reflec-
tions, some one tapped suddenly at the window,
and, before I could distinguish who it was,
Charlotte Owen called out, “ What! all alone,
Susan? Make haste, and let me in.”

I was surprised at the free manner in which
she spoke to me, but I opened the window, and
endeavoured to speak as cheerfully to her as if
we had always been the best friends.

*¥ came for a little chat,” she said; * will
you let me in?”

I answered, that I thanked her; but at the
same time I advised her, as it was getting late,
to make the best of her way home, as it was
late for a young woman to be seen abroad.

“« There again,” she said, “ you come in with
your scruples, Susan, and your over-niceness.
You have lived with the old woman till you
are good for nothing.”

So saying, she went round to the door, and
knocked very loudly at it till I unbolted it;
for when I was alone | always fastened it as
night drew on.

“Why, Charlotte,” I said, “* you seem very
merry this evening;” and I invited her to sit
down by my ironing-board.

“Merry!” she answered, as she took her
seat, “yes, to be sure: the town’s all alive.
The soldiers are in town, I suppose you know
that. You may hear the drums and fifes down
here very plain; and we had a dance yesterday
at the Blue-Boar. My mother and I were both
there; and the long room was so full, that you
could hardly squeeze in; and the women were

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