Year: 1870

1
Not very hard, I reckon ?
please, sir, look and see.
And we looked on the back and
shoulders of the little one to see
the blue marks where ugly blows
had been by the dozen bestowed
on the little girl who sat there in
tears while her flowers were or q
sofa beside US.


If you do not sell all these to-
night, will your father whip YOU ?
Yes SIR


what time must you be home 2
Any time before morning.
Docs your father drink ?
Yes sir, every day"
Does your mother drink ?
Yes sir =


They do not both get drunk do
they p


Yes, sir; most every day
is that the best dress yorl have7'
Yes, sir, and the only one


'How came ou to 60 to Sunday
school p


"A good woman. with a sweet
face, bought bouquet OF me last
spring. and came to see ne; and
mother said l might 60 to Sunday
school,


And you 60 every Sund ay p


Yes, sir


That is right; I wish all she
little children in the lan,l could
go. Why do you go?'


To learn. And my teacher is
so kind to me-


DO you love her better tban
your father or mother ?


Please sir, don't want to tell =
But I don't love her better than.
Lotsa, my little sister


And the tears ran down her face
as she leaned forward AID rested
her head in our hand while we
stroked the dust filled hair which
hung but half combed over her
neck. Then she went to the wash
basin and gave her face a good
bathing, wet her hair, and brushed
it. Then we put some cologne on
it, and she looked so unlike the
tired little Marcy who had been
talking to US, that when she looked
in the mirror she almost laughed.


Then she took q glass of ice-wa
ter and an apple from the fruit
basket, and another one for her
sister, and sat again on the otto
man to tell us what she wanted to
when she waited for us.


And it was queer wish. She
wanted US to adopt her, or to find
her q home somewhere, in some
other city, where her father would
not find her, and whip her SO. and
where her mother would not whip
her every day. She told the story
of her sad young life. Often had
she been whipped. and sometimes
brutally. She swept street-cross-
ings in muddy weather, and sold
bouquets. and picked rags, and so
kept her parents alive and in drink.
They lived in one little room way
up stairs, and never had butter on
their bread.


Once her father was q merchant
Then he became q politician. Then
he became = drupkard. and losi all
his friends. And his wife took to
drink, and 80 they drove their lit
tie ones to the street God pity
them--and all little children who
have such parents.


She told US that life had no eun-
shine for her. No matter how we'll
she did, cross words and blows
were all the reward she Lad. till
now, if we could not find her u
home, she wanted to be sick and
die, and 90 home to God, who. she
said, she knew wonld not he go un-
kind TO heri Aud the tears kert
coming as che talked to us,


1t was after eleven O'Clock when i
she left, with her little bouquets
sold. We went with her u the
door, and let her out upon the
street. when we saw her scamper
away, glad to know that another
night could she sleep on the floor
without a whipping.


We were glad to make her hap>
py, and are glad to know that so
many children, who will read this,
Or whose father or NJ other will read
l. to them. have not such cruel,
drunken parents.


In the great city are thousands
Of poor children who do not have
even such homes as many poor
children in the country have, and
Who would be very happy If they
had nice beds and good food, and