ngel.

Mildred had stopped for a moment and was looking at Molly.

In her sympathy for the poor little thing lying there she forgot all
about Roy. Her eyes were full of pity.

"How do you do?" she said, coming softly to the bedside.

"Oh, very well, thank you," said Molly. "My dog has come back."

"Why, is he your dog, too? He's my dog," said Mildred.

The face of the crippled child fell.

"Is he? I thought he was mine. I hoped he was. He came in one day,
and I didn't know he belonged to anybody but me. I had been lying here
so long I hoped he would always stay with me."

The face looked so sad. The large eyes looked wistful, and Mildred was
sorry that she had claimed the dog. She thought for a moment.

"I will give him to you," she said, eagerly.

Molly's eyes lit up.

"Oh, will you? Thank you so much."

"Have you got anything to feed him on?" asked Mildred.

"Yes, some bones I put away for him." She pulled from under the side
of the bed two bones wrapt in paper, and Roy at once seized them and
began to gnaw at them.

"I have a roll here I will give him," said Mildred. "I shall have my
lunch when I get back."

She held out her roll. Molly's eyes glistened.

"Can I have a little piece of it?" she asked timidly; "I haven't had
any breakfast."

Mildred's eyes opened wide.

"Haven't had any breakfast, and nearly lunch time! Are you going to
wait till luncheon?"

"'Luncheon?' What's that?" said Molly. "I get dinner generally; but I
am afraid I mayn't get any to-day. Mrs. O'Meath is drunk."

She spoke of it as if it were a matter of course. Mildred's face was a
study. The idea of such a thing as not getting enough to eat had never
crossed her mind. She could not take it in.

"Here, take this; eat all of it. I will get my mother to send you some
dinner right away, and every day." She took hold of Molly's thin hand
and stroked it in a caressing, motherly sort of way. "What is your
name?" She leaned over her and stroked her little dry brow, as her
mother did hers when she had a headache.

"Molly."

"Molly what?"

"I don't believe I've got any other name," said Molly. "My mother was
named Mary."

"Where is she?" asked Mildred.

"She's dead."

"And your father?"

"Kilt!" said Molly. "'T least I reckon he was. Mrs. O'Meath says he
was. I don't know whether he's dead or not."

Mildred's eyes opened wide. The idea of any one not knowing whether or
not her father wa