At the period I commenced with, her slender earnings were the sole support of the family, including two younger sisters.  I must throw a veil over some mortifying circumstances.  Enough to say, that her Saturday’s pittance was the only chance of a Sunday’s (generally their only) meal of meat.

One thing I will only mention, that in some child’s part, where in her theatrical character she was to sup off a roast fowl (O joy to Barbara!) some comic actor, who was for the night caterer for this dainty—­in the misguided humour of his part, threw over the dish such a quantity of salt (O grief and pain of heart to Barbara!) that when he crammed a portion of it into her mouth, she was obliged sputteringly to reject it; and what with shame of her ill-acted part, and pain of real appetite at missing such a dainty, her little heart sobbed almost to breaking, till a flood of tears, which the well-fed spectators were totally unable to comprehend, mercifully relieved her.

This was the little starved, meritorious maid, who stood before old Ravenscroft, the treasurer, for her Saturday’s payment.

Ravenscroft was a man, I have heard many old theatrical people besides herself say, of all men least calculated for a treasurer.  He had no head for accounts, paid away at random, kept scarce any books, and summing up at the week’s end, if he found himself a pound or so deficient, blest himself that it was no worse.

Now Barbara’s weekly stipend was a bare half guinea.—­By mistake he popped into her hand a—­whole one.

Barbara tripped away.

She was entirely unconscious at first of the mistake:  God knows,
Ravenscroft would never have discovered it.

But when she had got down to the first of those uncouth landing-places, she became sensible of an unusual weight of metal pressing her little hand.

Now mark the dilemma.

She was by nature a good child.  From her parents and those about her she had imbibed no contrary influence.  But then they had taught her nothing.  Poor men’s smoky cabins are not always porticoes of moral philosophy.  This little maid had no instinct to evil, but then she might be said to have no fixed principle.  She had heard honesty commended, but never dreamed of its application to herself.  She thought of it as something which concerned grown-up people—­men and women.  She had never known temptation, or thought of preparing resistance against it.

Her first impulse was to go back to the old treasurer, and explain to him his blunder.  He was already so confused with age, besides a natural want of punctuality, that she would have had some difficulty in making him understand it.  She saw that in an instant.  And then it was such a bit of money! and then the image of a larger allowance of butcher’s meat on their table next day came across her, till her little eyes glistened, and her mouth moistened.  But then Mr. Ravenscroft had always been so good-natured,