The Richmond palladium. [volume] (Richmond, Ind.) 1855-1875, 1868-02-13

window And she asked it oftener after
'-she had risen and dressed herself and
brothers, and smoothed the two beds.
Bread they must have and that day.
They were all faint even now. and the
boys clamored for their breakfast.
Suddenly a bright thought came to the
little daughter. She remembered hav-
ing seen in the coffee houses, young girls
no taller than she, waiting upon custo-
mers. Perhaps they would try her. g!
am handy, quick and patient, and |
would try SO much to oblige.''' l am
pretty, too, she might have added, had
there been a spark Of vanity in her
heart for she was a sweet child,
with brow like sunny snowdrift,
and even like the Spring violets that
nestle in the woodlands. Il will try,
at least, and see what can do and
after watching a moment the weary sleep
of her parents she whispered to her lit
tie brothers that she was going out to
get some bread for them, and then hur-
ried away.
She did 60 to the bakers, but her pitt
full story failed to touch his heart, and
there were tears upon her cold cheek as
she turned away What should she do
beg? She asked herself the question
with quivering lip. Never before had
their poverty driven them to that strait,
and it was hard, even now, with the pic
ture Of that wretched home fresh in her
vision. to plead for charity. But she did
it. Again and again she said to the pas
ser by, ssPlease, sir, please, nam, give
me penny to buy bread with for my
sick parents"
And the gentlemen had their over
coats buttoned to their chins, and the la
dies were enveloped in furs, and it was
too much trouble to find the pocket
books or purses just to supply beg
gar's wants.
"Go to the soup house," said one, at
last, more churlish than the rest. "The
city provides for such as You"
1t was a new idea to her, and as fast
as her feet could carry her she went,
and, entering in breathless haste, told
her story to the attendant matron.
81 will report the case to the COM
mittee," said the woman quietly, max
ing memorandum of the name and nun
Der of the street .'Come in to morrow
morning. and will do what I can for
you"
To morrow! She would become too
weak to walk so far by that time, and
what would become Of the rest?
With heavy heart she went home,
having no courage to present herself as
q waiter to any of the coffee houses she
passed on her way.
did you get some?" cried the boys,
gathering about her, and pulling on her
cloak to see if it were hidden under her
arms.
"Did you get some?' said two faint
voices from the bed corner, and the COW
erlet was thrown off, and two pairs of
thin, white hands put forth.
mo, no. she answered plaintively,
''but will try again. Keep up good
hope"
There will be plenty ont of the oven
now. Yes plenty" she said to herself,
as she buttoned her cloak on the thresh
old; "plenty, and I'll have some too.
They shall not starve. Men and wo-
men forsake me; God doesn't hear me
any longer! There is nothing left for
me to do but for to steal!''
Her face paled as she spoke it, and for
q moment there was q wild wrestle in
her heart. Then she went on quickly,
pausing an instant before each bakers
door, and looking anxiously within. By
and by she found one that seemed empty.
A whole pile Of steaming loaves lay
upon the counter.
She rushed in and seized one, and
hiding it under her cloak, fed madly
up the street. But the baker had seen
her from the little sitting room, and was
after her crying Justify, "Stop thief, stop
thief!' A crowd followed her, and the
poor child was soon run down.
IA clear case,' said the police officer,
who took her. s'She must go to the
court ROOM" In vain she pleaded with
them and told her story.
They must do their duty, she might
have begged, she might have gone to
the soup house; there was no excuse
for stealing at any rate.
No excuse, and her mother was dying
for food
An important trial was just closing,
and all the avenues TO the court house
were thronged.
They'll be through soon," said the
officer to the baker: t.We'lI wait here a