I am so
worn out when I come from the office. It seems each day my head aches
worse than it did the day before." Miss Dorcas sighed. "And if it isn't
a downright ache when I come home, it begins to pound as soon as I look
at this book--" she eyed the account-book open before her--"I hoped you
could have some new shoes this month. Those are downright shabby. But
there isn't any money for them. I don't see how I am going to pay the
gas bill unless we stop eating. It costs so much to live!"
"Perhaps Miss Santa Claus will give us something," suggested Anne.
"Perhaps so," answered Miss Dorcas, absently, poising her pencil above a
column of figures in her account-book.
'Miss Santa Claus' was the name that Anne had given to a gentlewoman in
the apartment below. Anne had a smiling acquaintance with her and was
deeply interested in glimpses of her visitors. Miss Santa Claus's real
name was Margery Hartman. Her fair hair was growing silvery, but her
cheeks were pink and soft with lingering girlhood and the spirit of
eternal youth looked from her clear blue eyes. She was the district
agent of the Associated Charities, and worked untiringly with kind heart
and clear head to aid and uplift the poor around her.
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