It is to be feared that Poppy stole away from her work that morning. Poor Poppy was getting into a sadly defiant mood. She was getting thoroughly tired of her aunt, Mrs. Flint, and when Jasmine appeared and said a few coaxing words the naughty girl left her work undone, disregarded the many cries for Sarah Ann and Sarah Maria, and putting on her brilliant hat and her smart jacket, sallied forth citywards with Jasmine and Daisy. In due time the three reached the office of The Joy-bell and were admitted into the presence of the editor.

"You musn't let me accept too low terms, Poppy," said Jasmine, as they were going in at the door.

Poppy nodded very brightly in reply, and Jasmine took the seat the editor offered her with a certain little air of modest elation.

"I got your note," she began, "and I thought you'd like to see me immediately, so I came. This is my sister; she knows all about it; she's in the story herself. I've drawn all my characters from the life; and my friend, Poppy Jenkins—you saw her a fortnight ago—she's in the book too."

The editor—Mr. Potter was his name—had a habit of waving his hand when anything that he considered superfluous was being said; he now waved both Daisy and Poppy into the background, and addressed himself to Jasmine in a style which, as she said afterwards, riveted her attention on the spot.

"I wrote to you, Miss Mainwaring," he said, "because I saw germs of promise in your composition—it is young, of course, for you are very young, but it is fresh, and with due correctness, which I myself am willing to supply, I do not see why 'The Pursuit of Happiness' should not appear in our journal. We publish, however, only under certain conditions, and before I make any offer for your writings I should like to know whether you are able to fulfil them."

"That sounds in the nature of a bargain," here burst from Poppy's lips. "Now, Miss Jasmine, please will you listen very sharp, and see what the gentleman is after? Bargains seem to me to be all in favor of them that makes them. Aunt Flint made a bargain with me, and, oh my! I thought it good enough to leave the country and come up to a town whose name is wanity. Nothing have I got, Miss Jasmine, from my share of the bargain but a swimming head and the name of Sarah!"

"If this young person will cease to interrupt us," proceeded the editor, in his blandest tones.

"Oh, yes; Poppy, please stop talking," said Jasmine. "I beg your pardon, sir; I only wanted Poppy to help me when we came to terms. We have not come to the money part yet, dear Poppy. Yes, sir, I am most anxious to listen to you."

"Well, Miss Mainwaring, the facts are these—yes, I fear it is a question of money, after all. The Joy-bell is a new magazine; we are most anxious to extend its circulation by every means in our power. We have hit on what we consider a novel, but effective expedient. Each contributor to our pages is expected to subscribe for a hundred copies per month of our magazine—these copies he is asked to disseminate as widely as possible amongst his friends. The magazine is only sixpence a month. Of course you get your friends to take the copies off your hands. Your story will, I think, run for six months—you are really put to no expense, for, of course, you must know a hundred people who will gladly take a magazine in which you appear. Thus you gain the advantage of having your story widely read and published not at your own expense."

"But please—" began Jasmine.

"If I might speak who am brought here for the purpose," here burst from Poppy, "what pay is the young lady to have for the words of genius that she has wrote upon the paper? Yes, Miss Jasmine, you said I was to let my voice be heard here—I'm not afraid, not of nobody, and here, I puts down my foot, and I says, 'What's the pay?'"

"The pay?" echoed the editor. "Surely the young lady does not expect to be paid for anything so very amateur—no, she cannot expect to be paid in money—in another way she is paid, and largely; she obtains a reputation, and what immature talent she has is brought to the fore! I am afraid, Miss Mainwaring, I must not take up any more of your valuable time—I think I have explained myself quite clearly—do you accept my offer? If you are willing to become a subscriber for one hundred copies monthly of The Joy-bell your story shall appear; if not, I must return you your MS. with regret."

Poor Jasmine's white little face grew piteous.

"Oh, Poppy!" she began.

"Do you want it, Miss Jasmine?" said Poppy. "I calls it a cheat; but do you want it?"

"Oh, dear Poppy, I thought my words would look so lovely in Print—I am disappointed!"

"Then you shan't be, Miss Jasmine, darling. Here, sir, you're another of the Aunt Flint tribe, but my darling Miss Jasmine shall not look as she does now if I can prevent it. Please, sir, will you look in this here little purse given to you by the honest hand of toil, and see if it contains the price of a hundred of those nasty Joy-bells. There's my three months' wage in that purse, sir, so I expect it will prove sufficient."

The editor opened the little purse gingerly.

"Do you wish your friend to subscribe for you?" he asked, looking at Jasmine. "I will allow you to have the first instalment at a reduction. The full price for a hundred copies of The Joy-bell at sixpence a copy will be, of course, fifty shillings. On this occasion you shall have these delivered to you at your residence for forty-five shillings."

"It's in the purse, sir," said Poppy, with an air of modest pride. "Forty-five shillings, and fifteen shillings over, for my wage with Aunt Flint comes exactly to three pounds a quarter. The fifteen shillings will find me ............