erson of this
little story.

It was a cold, but for a wonder in London in the winter, a bright and
dry morning. All the better, you will say--of course everybody must like
nice clean streets and pavements much more than sloppy rain and mud. But
no; not quite _everybody_. Think of the crossing-sweepers! Dirty, muddy
days are their harvest-time, especially Sundays, when in the better
parts of the town there are so many more rich and well-to-do foot
passengers than on other days. It was a real disappointment, and worse
than a disappointment--a real serious trouble to little Billy Harding,
when, after the best breakfast his poor mother could give him--and that
isn't saying very much--he hurried downstairs from the attic which was
his home, brush in hand, to find the pavements dry as a bone, and the
roads almost _clean_!

"I made sure it were going to rain beautiful," he said to himself,
dolefully, "it looked so uncommon like it, last night."

But the wind had veered round to the east while Billy was fast asleep,
and as everybody knows, the east wind, which "is neither good for man
nor beast," hasn't _even_ the good quality of bringing profitably dirty
streets for the poor crossing-sweepers.

There was nothing for it but to go to his post, however, and there it
was I saw him that same cold, dry, clean Sunday morning, when I myself
was on my way to church. Very likely I should never have noticed _him_,
nor _her_ either, if I had met them separately, but it was the seeing
them standing together, talking earnestly, that caught my attention, and
the anxious, rather troubled expression on the little old lady's face,
and the bright eager look on the boy's, made me wonder what it was all
about. A dreadful idea crossed my mind for an instant--could he be a
naughty boy? had he possibly been trying to pick the old lady's pocket,
and was she talking to him in hopes of making him repentant, as is
sometimes the way with tender-hearted old ladies, instead of giving him
in charge to a policeman? (Not that there was any policeman in view!)
But another instant made me feel ashamed of the thought--a second
glance at the boy's honest face was enough.

Now I will tell you what had happened; how I came to know it does not
matter.

[Illustration: "Thank you, ma'am,"]

I told you my little old lady always managed to give away something to
others. One of her habits was to put one shilling into the box in the
church porch "for the poor of t