and water for her, of course. Now, isn't that fine?"
It was good to see how heartily these girls sympathized in their comrade's good fortune. Polly danced all over the room, Bess and Becky hugged one another, and Kate laughed with her eyes full, while even Fanny felt a glow of pride and pleasure at the kind act.
"Who is that?" she whispered to Polly, who had subsided into a corner.
"Why, it's Kate King, the authoress. Bless me, how rude not to introduce you! Here, my King, is an admirer of yours, Fanny Shaw, and my well-beloved friend," cried Polly, presenting Fan, who regarded the shabby young woman with as much respect, as if she had been arrayed in velvet and ermine; for Kate had written a successful book by accident, and happened to be the fashion, just then.
"It's time for lunch, girls, and I brought mine along with me, it's so much jollier to eat in sisterhood. Let's club together, and have a revel," said Kate, producing a bag of oranges, and several big, plummy buns.
"We've got sardines, crackers, and cheese," said Bess, clearing off a table with all speed.
"Wait a bit, and I'll add my share," cried Polly, and catching up her cloak, she ran off to the grocery store near by.
"You'll be shocked at our performances, Miss Shaw, but you can call it a picnic, and never tell what dreadful things you saw us do," said Rebecca, polishing a paint knife by rubbing it up and down in
