“What’s that to us?” almost shouted the weak old man, shaking his fist at her in his rage.

“Well, keep your temper, old man,” said Ann.  “I’m sorry it goes so hard with you, but as long as I can stand on my feet, I sha’n’t turn anybody out to freeze, that’s certain.”

“How much’ll you get for them?” said the miserable old man, after a few moments’ silence, indicating by his hand the clean clothes on the line.

“Two dollars,” said Ann, “and half of it must go to help make up next month’s rent.  I’ve got a good bit to make up yet, and only a week to do it in, and I sha’n’t have another cent till day after to-morrow.”

“Well, I wish you’d manage to buy me a little tea,” whined the old man; “seems as if that would go right to the spot, and warm up my old bones a bit.”

“I’ll try,” said Ann, revolving in her mind how she could save a few pennies from her indispensable purchases to get tea and sugar, for without sugar he would not touch it.

Wearied with his unusual exertion, the old man now dropped off to sleep, and Ann went softly about, folding and piling the clothes into a big basket already half full.  When they were all packed in, and nicely covered with a piece of clean muslin, she took an old shawl and hood from a nail in the corner, put them on, blew out the candle, for it must not burn one moment unnecessarily, and, taking up her basket, went out into the cold winter night, softly closing the door behind her.

The house was on an alley, but as soon as she turned the corner she was in the bright streets, glittering with lamps and gay people.  The shop windows were brilliant with Christmas displays, and thousands of warmly dressed buyers were lingering before them, laughing and chatting, and selecting their purchases.  Surely it seemed as if there could be no want here.

As quickly as her burden would let her, the old washerwoman passed through the crowd into a broad street and rang the basement bell of a large, showy house.

“Oh, it’s the washerwoman!” said a flashy-looking servant who answered the bell; “set the basket right m here.  Mrs. Keithe can’t look them over to-night.  There’s company in the parlour—­Miss Carry’s Christmas party.”

“Ask her to please pay me—­at least a part,” said old Ann hastily.  “I don’t see how I can do without the money.  I counted on it.”

“I’ll ask her,” said the pert young woman, turning to go upstairs; “but it’s no use.”

Returning in a moment, she delivered the message.  “She has no change to-night; you’re to come in the morning.”

“Dear me!” thought Ann, as she plodded back through the streets, “it’ll be even worse than I expected, for there’s not a morsel to eat in the house, and not a penny to buy one with.  Well—­well—­the Lord will provide, the Good Book says, but it’s mighty dark days, and it’s hard to believe.”

Entering the house, Ann sat down silently before the expiring fire.  She was tired, her bones ached, and she was faint for want of food.