the time. I lie awake at night and think of it, it is
before me all day at my work. Money, money, if only I have a little
money, I can save my mother yet. Then the chance come, the money is
there before me. I look at it, I take it. That is all.

"You ask me why I steal that money. I steal it for her, my mother; to
save her life. Yes, and for her, too, the blind grandmother, and for
them," and she pointed to a very old woman sitting close to the stove
and holding in her arms a whimpering child of four. At her side
crouched two more children, somewhat older, huddled together in a ragged
shawl. They wore neither shoes nor stockings and the small feet were
blue with cold.

"Oh, you poor child," exclaimed the forewoman, her eyes filling with
tears. "Why did you not tell me a week ago instead of taking that money,
for one wrong can never right another; why did you not tell me? We might
not have been able to save your mother, but we could have helped you.
Even after you took the money, if you had told me all, something might
have been done for you. I wish you had told me, Julie, I wish you had
told me."

The shocked grief of the woman's face and voice had their effect upon
the girl, and it was in a much more gentle tone that she continued:

"You can see for yourself how it is with us now, but we are not always
like this. If you care to listen and will sit down, I tell you all about
it.

"No, indeed, we are not always like this. I can remember when father is
alive how happy we all are. He is a mason, good and steady, and he work
for us all the time. We live in a pretty little flat, it is bright and
clean and mother keep it so and make everything look nice for us. She
sing and she laugh and she look so pretty in those days. I go to school
and Marie also, dear Marie who died one year ago. Antoine, too, he go to
school with Marie and me. Lorraine there, she too little; she stay at
home with mother and with grandmother.

"Well, we are all so happy until one day father is brought home to us.
He is dead, killed at his work by a falling derrick. That same day poor
little Baptiste, him there on grandmother's lap, he come into this cruel
world. Mother is sick, so very sick for a long time after. It is weeks
and weeks before she can walk around again. By the time she does, the
little money she had saved is all gone; there is not a cent in the house
and the landlord puts us out into the street.

"I am only twelve at the time but