Year: 1870

MORNING again = ana the weary,
wasted invalid lifted his head from the
pillow and looked pitifHlly over the dim
room. 'Oh, that the night had been
lOngerp to the wretched, sleep is dear
MY poor, poor wife-my darling babies
must they freeze and starve? And
with tears gushing from his eyes, the
pale man buried his head in the scanty
covering and gTOaned aloud.


It was no wonder that he was out of
heart on that cold, dark December day.
At best he had hard struggle to get
food, and for the past six months the
struggle had been desperate, for his wife
had been unable to assist him in the
least, being confined to her bed with a
slow, wasting disease. His little daugh-
ter Marie, pretty child of twelve, kept
the room tidy, and herself, and two lit
tie brothers, like wax. By the aid of
her mothers whispered directions, she
also managed to do up the weekly wash
ing and ironing.


MY little sunbeam the father fondly
called her, while the mother would say
in her low, sweet tones tour angel


One night the young housekeeper
waited until it was pitch dark for her
father to come home to frugal supper,
and then, with fearful fOrebOdings at
her heart, Undressed the little boys and
put them to bed, and tied on her hood
and cloak to go for him. A crowd was
at the very threshold. With a wild cry,
she rushed toward the inanimate form
they carried upon board. It was her
father, brought home with a broken leg.


A week has passed since this misfOr-
tune. By the sale of a few pieces of fur
niture the wolf had been kept from the
door. But now, nothing remained save
the coarse bed on which the distressed
ones slept. No coal for the little CRATE;
no tea for the feVerish lips; no crust for
the famished children! What should
be done.


It was a question little Marie asked
herself again, as they lay there watch
ing the few pale sunbeams that strug-
gled through the window. And she ask
ed it oftener after she had risen and
dressed herself and brothers, and smooth
ed the two beds. Bread they must have
that day. They were all faint even now,
and the boys clamOTing for their break
fast.


Suddenly bright thought came to
the little daughter. She remembered
having seen, in the coffee houses, young
girls no taller than she waiting upon the
customers. Perhaps they would try her.
IF they only would, she murmured soft
ly. i am handy, quick and patient, and
[ would try so hard to Oblige.D lam pret-
ty too, she might truly have added, had
there been a spark of vanity in her
heart; for she was a sweet child, with q
brow like sunny snOwdrift, and eyes
like the spring viOlets that nestle in the
woodlands. Il will try, at least, and see
what I can dO;' and, after watching a
a moment the weary sleep of her
parents, she whispered to the little boys
that she was going out to get some bread
for them and hurried away.


She did go to the bakers but her pitt
luf story failed to touch this hard heart,
and there were tears on her cold cheek
as she turned away. Even if she secur-
ed a place, she could hope for no wages
until Saturday, and there We're four
weary days before this and that. Bread
would be too late if she waited till then.
What should she do-beg? She asked
herself the question with a Quivering
lip. Never before had their poverty
driven them to that strait, and it was
hard, even now, with the picture of that
wretched home fresh in her vision, to
plead for charity. But she did it. Again
and again she said to the passer by,
Please, sir, please ma'am, give me
penny to buy bread for my sick par
rents


But the gentlemen had their over
coats buttOned up to their chins, and
the ladies were envelOped in flrs, and
it was too much like trouble to find their
pOcketbOOks or purses, just to supply a
beggeF's wants.


Go to the soup-house,' said one, at
last, more churlish than the rest. "The
city provides for such as yOu.'


It was a new idea to her, and as fast
as feet could carry her, she went, and,
in breathless hase, told her stO-
ry to the attendant matron.'


Il will report the case to the commit
tee,' said the woman quietly, making a
of the name and number
of street. Come in tomorrow morning,
and will do what can for YOU


Tomorrow she would become too weak
to walk so far by that time, and what
would become of the rest p


With a weary heart, she went home,
having no courage to present herself as
a waiter to any of the coffee houses she
passed on her way.


Did you get sOme9 cried the boys,
about her, and pulling off her
cloak to see if it were hidden in her
cloak or under her arms.


Did you get some? said two faint
voices from the bed in the corner, and
the cOveTlet was thrown off, and two
pairs of thin, white hands put forth.


No, no, she answered, plaintively;
but well try again. Keep up good
hope


There will be plenty out of the oven
now. Yes, plenty she said to herself,
as she bOttOned her cloak on the thresh-
hold plenty, and I'll have some, too.
They shall not starve. Men and women
fOrsake me; God doesn't hear me any
longer? There is nothing left for me
to do but Stcul.'


Her face paled as she spoke it, and
for a few moments there was a wild !
wrestle in her heart. Then she went on
quietly, 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 their counter.


She rushed in and seized one, and hid |
ing it under her cloak, fled madly up
the street. But the baker had seen her |
from the little sitting room, and was
after her crying Justify. Stop thief, stop
theft A crowd followed her and the
poor child was soon run down.