“Just one minute too late!” cried Alicia Linden, sinking into a chair; “I saw the precious pair just turn the corner.  Don’t cry, rosebud.  I’ll pay them off yet.  I can manage Mrs. Brown and the whole Crane clique.  They will be sorry for this insult.”

“Indeed, I know I am foolish, dear Mrs. Linden,” said Clemence, upon whose face smiles struggled with tears like an April day.  “If this is poverty, it is at least honest poverty, of which I am not ashamed.  I will not allow them to disturb me.  But, pray, not a word of this to mamma.”

The short winter days passed, and March came with its cold, blustering winds, and severe changes of weather.  Mrs. Graystone failed visibly.  She could no longer conceal from the fond eyes that watched her, that her days were numbered.

Clemence’s time was so completely taken up in nursing the invalid, that she was obliged to abandon all other employment, and her income ceased entirely.  She knew not what to do.  She was in debt to Mrs. Mann, without the means of payment, and she knew that the kind woman could illy sustain the burden.  Mrs. Linden was her only friend, and she was a widow of limited means.

Pondering deeply upon the subject, a thought struck her, which she resolved to act upon immediately.  First, having installed Mrs. Mann as nurse in her place, she hastily donned hat and shawl, and hurried out into the street.  It was a cold, raw, disagreeable day.  Little pools of water, that had formed in the hollows of the sidewalks, were fast freezing into ice, and the keen, cruel wind seemed to penetrate to the very marrow of one’s bones.

People, well wrapped in rich furs, strong-minded ladies bent on a mission, portly gentlemen on their way to their counting rooms, and troops of bright-eyed, rosy-cheeked school-girls, passed her on her way.  Two little pinched, hollow-eyed children came out of a red brick building, which bore in large letters over the spacious doorway, “The Orphan’s Home,” and walked beside her.  A little eager voice fell on her ear: 

“I tell you, Marthy, they don’t give you nothin’ to eat to the ‘Home.’  And I’m so hungry!  Wouldn’t it be nice if we could have all we wanted to eat, just once?  I dream every night that mamma comes to me, and kisses and pets me as she used to.  Perhaps if we are good and patient, we may go to her some day.”

“Poor little creatures,” sighed Clemence.  “What can I do to alleviate their sorrows?”

She looked again at the wan, childish faces, then drew out her slender portmonnaie.  “The Lord will provide,” she thought, as the time-worn “Charity begins at home,” rose to her lips, at sight of her scant supply of means.  “Come here, dears,” she said, beckoning to them.

The little ones crept up to her with shy, downcast eyes.  She went with them into a confectioners, and filled their hands with crisp cakes and steaming rolls, and watched them with a moisture in her eyes, as they eagerly grasped at what was to them a royal feast.