JOE.  You had the purse?

MARY.  Yes—­

JOE.  No one followed you?

MARY.  No one.  I couldn’t run, as I had to carry Minnie.

JOE.  What made you do it?

MARY.  I don’t know—­something in me did it—­She put the purse down just by the side of my hand—­my fingers clutched it before I knew—­and I was out in the street.

JOE.  How much is there in it?

MARY.  I haven’t looked, Joe.

JOE. [Wondering.] You haven’t looked?

MARY.  No; I didn’t dare.

JOE. [Sorrowfully.] I didn’t think we’d come to this, Mary.

MARY. [Desperately.] We’ve got to do something.  Before we can earn any money at making matchboxes we’ll have to spend some weeks learning.  And you’ve not had a decent meal for a month—­nor have I. If there’s money inside this purse you can get some clothes—­and for me too—­I need them!  It’s not as though the old lady would miss it—­she’s rich enough—­her cloak was real sable—­and no one can find us out—­they can’t tell one piece of money from the other.  It’s heavy, Joe—­I think there’s a lot inside.

JOE. [Weighing it mechanically.] Yes—­it’s heavy—­

MARY. [Eagerly.] Open it, Joe.

JOE. [Turning to her again.] Why didn’t you?

MARY.  I just thought I’d wait—­I’d an idea something might have happened; that some one might have stopped you in the street, some one with a heart—­and that he’d have come in with you to-night—­and seen us—­seen Minnie—­and said—­“Well, here’s money—­I’ll put you on your legs again”—­And then we’d have given the purse back, Joe.

JOE. [As he still mechanically balances it in his hand.] Yes.

MARY.  Can’t go on like this, can we?  You’ll cough all night again, as you did yesterday—­and the stuff they gave you at the Dispensary’s no good.  If you had clothes, you might get some sort of a job perhaps—­you know you had to give up trying because you were so shabby.

JOE.  They laugh at me.

MARY. [With a glance at herself.] And I’m really ashamed to walk through the streets—­

JOE.  I know—­though I’m getting used to it.  Besides, there’s the kiddie. 
Let’s have a look at her.

MARY.  Be careful you don’t wake her, Joe!

JOE.  There’s a fire.

MARY.  She’ll be hungry.

JOE.  You said that she had some food?

MARY.  That was at three o’clock.  And little things aren’t like us—­they want their regular meals.  Night after night she has been hungry, and I’ve had nothing to give her.  That’s why I took the purse.

JOE. [Still holding it mechanically and staring at it.] Yes.  And, after all, why not?

MARY.  We can get the poor little thing some warm clothes, some good food—­

JOE. [Under his breath.] A thief’s daughter.

     [Covers his face with his hands.