“A woman took us in her house.”

“It is a long walk for you,” said Mary Ann, as we crossed one of the broad avenues, “and we live in the top of the house.”

When we reached the house where the children lived, Mary Ann and Ellen ran up before me so fast that I lost sight of them.  The hall was so dark that I could not see the stairs, but I could hear their feet pattering quickly on, and I followed as best I could.  The last flight of stairs I could see distinctly, for the sky-light was just over them.  They were brown with age, but they were evidently often swept and washed.  I entered a room in which I saw the children.  The woman there they introduced as their mother.  She did not receive me with much cordiality.  I suppose she wondered why I had come there.  Her room was small and scantily furnished.  It was heated by a small furnace.  The great gray cat was dozing in the corner.

I seated myself on a clean wooden chair, and began to talk with the mother about her children.  She told me of her only son, “as fine a boy as ever stood on two feet,” and her anxiety in regard to him.  I attempted to encourage her to hope that so soon as navigation closed, he would return to her, for he had been employed on a coal-boat; but she refused to be comforted.  She wished to find a place for Joanna in the city.

Mary Ann, who is nine years old, said she should like to go to the country.  She thought she could wash dishes, set the table, and sweep, and I thought so too, for she seemed to me one of the smartest little girls I ever saw.  She would have been quite willing to accompany me to the country, if her mother had consented, and I could have taken her.

The children’s mother came to this country when she was quite young, and lived for several years as a servant in different families.  She showed me several papers which she carefully preserved in a basket.  One was a certificate from a physician—­another from the person who had employed her husband.  As she opened her trunk I observed its contents were nicely folded and arranged, as if she had a love of order.  She told me she was able to do nothing but sew and could not procure much of that.

After the children came in, they combed their hair, and braided it, and washed their hands and faces.

I inquired if the children could read.  Ellen got her “Easy Lessons,” and came and stood by my side while she read in it.  Mary Ann read very well in her geography, and Joanna in some “Reading Lessons” which she had used at school.  I asked them if they could write.

“I can,” replied Mary Ann.  “I can write my name, or I could your’s if I knew it.”

I gave each of the children a piece of silver.  They immediately handed it, with a bright smile, to their mother.  I told them I would call again and see them some time, but I could not do it often.  When I bade them good-by, they all followed me to the door, and looked so pleased and happy that I felt amply repaid for my long walk.  I had gone but a few steps, when Mary Ann came bounding along, and asked, “When will you come to see us again?” I took her hand, and we walked together to the next street.