“Hi! that’s pooty!  Now, what a young wretch you be for to go and say that ere’s yourn!” added she severely, as she held the trinket out of reach of the little girl, who eagerly cried,—­

“It is, it is mine!  Papa gave me both of them, ’cause it’s my birthday.  They’re my bracelets; only mamma said I was too little to wear them on my arms like she does, and she tied up my sleeves with them.”

“Where’s t’other one, then?”

“It’s at home.  I pulled it off ’cause I was going to be like Merry, that weared a sun-bonnet, and didn’t have any bracelets.”

“Sun-bonnet!  What d’ye want of a sun-bonnet, weather like this?  I’ll give you my old hood; that’s more like it, I reckon,” replied the hag, amused, in spite of herself, by the prattle of the child.  ’Toinette hesitated.

“No,” said she at last:  “I guess you’d better give me my own very clo’ses, and carry me home.  Then mamma will give me a gingham dress and a sun-bonnet; and maybe she’ll give you my pretty things, if you want them.”

“Thanky for nothing, miss.  I reckon it’ll be a saving of trouble to take em now.  I don’t b’lieve a word about your ma’am giving ’em to you; and, more’n all, I don’t b’lieve you’ve got no ma’am.”

So saying, she rudely stripped off, first the dress, then the underclothes, and finally even the, stockings and pretty gaiter-boots; so that the poor child, frightened, ashamed, and angry, stood at last with no covering but the long ringlets of her golden hair, which, as she, sobbing, hid her face in her hands, fell about her like a veil.

Leaving her thus, the old woman rummaged for a few moments in a heap of clothes thrown into the corner of the room,—­the result, apparently, of many a day’s begging or theft.  From them she presently produced a child’s nightgown, petticoat, and woollen skirt, a pair of coarse shoes much worn, and an old plaid shawl:  with these she approached ’Toinette.

“See!  I’ve got your own clo’es here all ready for you.  Ain’t I good?”

“They ain’t my clothes:  I won’t have ’em on.  Go away, you naughty lady, you ain’t good a bit!” screamed ’Toinette, passionately striking at the clothes and the hand that held them.

“Come, come, miss, none o’ them airs!  Take that, now, and mend your manners!” exclaimed the old woman with a blow upon the bare white shoulder, which left the print of all her horny fingers.  It was the first time in all her life that ’Toinette had been struck; and the blood rushed to her face, and then away, leaving her as white as marble.  She cried no more, but, fixing her eyes upon the face of the old woman, said solemnly,—­

“Now the Lord doesn’t love you.  Did you know it was the bad spirits that made you strike me?  Mamma said so when I struck Susan.”

“Shut up!  I don’t want none of your preaching, miss,” replied the woman angrily.  “Here, put on these duds about the quickest, or I’ll give you worse than that.  Lor, what a mess of hair!  What’s the good on’t?  Maybe, though, they’d give some’at for it to the store.”