begins; and, when
you sing in Della Scala, I trust I shall be singing up yonder behind
the stars, where cold and hunger and heart-ache and cruel words cannot
follow me. But, miss, when I am gone, and Sebastian is over at the
corner trying to drown his troubles, and my four helpless little ones
are left here unprotected, for God's sake look in upon them now and
then, and don't let them cry for bread. My own family long ago cast me
off, and here I am a stranger; but you, who have felt the pangs of
orphanage, will not stand by and see my darlings starve! Oh, miss,
the poor who cannot pity the poor must be hard-hearted indeed!"

The suffering woman pressed her moaning babe closer to her bosom, and,
taking Salome's hand between her thin, hot fingers, bowed her
tear-stained face upon it.

Grim recollections of similar scenes enacted in the old house behind
the mill crowded upon the mind of the miller's daughter, hardening
instead of melting her heart; but, withdrawing her fingers, she said
in as kind a tone as she could command,--

"The poor are sometimes too poor to aid each other, and pity is most
unpalatable fare; but, if your husband has not grossly deceived
himself and me with reference to my voice, I will promise that your
children shall not suffer while I live. For their sake do not despond,
but try to keep up your spirits, else your husband will be utterly
ruined. Gloomy hearthstones make club-rooms and bar-rooms populous.
Good-by. When I come again, I will bring something to stimulate your
appetite, which seems to require coaxing."

She stooped and looked for a minute at the gaunt, white face of the
half-famished infant pressed against the mother's feverish breast, and
an irresistible impulse impelled her to stroke back the rings of black
hair that clustered on its sunken temples; then, snatching her music
and bundle, she hurried out of the close, untidy room, and, once more
upon the grassy common, drew a long, deep breath of pure fresh air.

Autumn, with orange dawns, and mellow, misty moons, when

"Sweet, calm days, in golden haze
Melt down the amber sky,"

had died on bare brown stubble-fields and vine-veined hill-sides,
purple with clustering grapes on leafless branches; and wintry days
had come, with sleety morns and chill, crisp noons, and scarlet sunset
banners flouting the silver stars in western skies, where the
shivering, gasping old year had woven,--

"One strait gown of red
Against