them to some colored children on my way home, and told him to come to our house and get an old coat Mamma was waiting to get rid of.  He told a pitiful story of himself and his old wife, who made the paper horrors in her bed, and how they needed everything, but didn’t wish to beg.  I was much touched, and flew home to look up the coat and some shoes, and when my old Lear came creeping in the back way, I ordered cook to give him a warm dinner and something nice for the old woman.

“I was called upstairs while he was mumbling his food, and blessing me in the most lovely manner; and he went away much comforted, I flattered myself.  But an hour later, up came the cook in a great panic to report that my venerable and pious beggar had carried off several of Papa’s shirts and pairs of socks out of the clothes-basket in the laundry, and the nice warm hood we keep for the girl to hang out clothes in.

“I was very angry, and, taking Harry with me, went at once to the address the old rascal gave me, a dirty court out of Hanover Street No such person had ever lived there, and my white-haired saint was a humbug.  Harry laughed at me, and Mamma forbade me to bring any more thieves to the house, and the girls scolded awfully.

“Well, I recovered from the shock, and, nothing daunted, went off to the little Irishwoman who sells apples on the Common,—­not the fat, tosey one with the stall near West Street, but the dried-up one who sits by the path, nodding over an old basket with six apples and four sticks of candy in it.  No one ever seems to buy anything, but she sits there and trusts to kind souls dropping a dime now and then; she looks so feeble and forlorn, ‘on the cold, cold ground.’

“She told me another sad tale of being all alone and unable to work, and ’as wake as wather-grewl, without a hap-worth av flesh upon me bones, and for the love of Heaven gimme a thrifle to kape the breath av loife in a poor soul, with a bitter hard winter over me, and niver a chick or child to do a hand’s turn.’  I hadn’t much faith in her, remembering my other humbug, but I did pity the old mummy; so I got some tea and sugar, and a shawl, and used to give her my odd pennies as I passed.  I never told at home, they made such fun of my efforts to be charitable.  I thought I really was getting on pretty well after a time, as my old Biddy seemed quite cheered up, and I was planning to give her some coal, when she disappeared all of a sudden.  I feared she was ill, and asked Mrs. Maloney, the fat woman, about her.

“’Lord love ye, Miss dear, it’s tuk up and sint to the Island for tree months she is; for a drunken ould crayther is Biddy Ryan, and niver a cint but goes for whiskey,—­more shame to her, wid a fine bye av her own ready to kape her daycint.’

“Then I was discouraged, and went home to fold my hands, and see what fate would send me, my own efforts being such failures.”

“Poor thing, it was hard luck!” said Elizabeth, as they sobered down after the gale of merriment caused by Marion’s mishaps, and her clever imitation of the brogue.