e seized Matilda's hand, and
she was drawn on, out of the little girl's range, before she could stop
to think about it. Two streets further on, they crossed an avenue; and
here Matilda saw two more children with brooms, a boy and a girl. This
time she saw what they were about. They were sweeping the crossing
clean for the feet of the passers-by. But their own feet were bare on
the stones. The next minute Norton had hailed a car and he and Matilda
got in. Her eyes and mouth were so full of dust and she was so cold, it
was a little while before she could ask questions comfortably.

"What are those children you wouldn't let me speak to?" she said, as
soon as she was a little recovered.

"Street-sweepers," said Norton. "Regular nuisances! The police ought to
take them up, and shut them up."

"Why, Norton?"

"Why? why because they're such a nuisance. You can't walk a half mile
without having half a dozen of them holding out their hands for
pennies. A fellow can't carry his pocket full of pennies and keep it
full!"

"But they sweep the streets, don't they?"

"The crossings; yes. I wish they didn't. They are an everlasting
bother."

"But Norton, isn't it nice to have the crossings swept? I thought it
was a great deal pleasanter than to have to go through the thick dust
and dirt which was everywhere else."

"Yes, but when they come every block or two?" said Norton.

"Are there so many of them?"

"There's no end to them," said Norton.

"But at any rate, there are just as many crossings," said Matilda. "And
they must be either dirty or clean."

"I can get along with the crossings," said Norton.

"Well, your boots are thick. Haven't those children any way to get a
living but such a way?"

"Of course not, or they wouldn't do that, I suppose."

"But their feet were _bare_, Norton; they were _bare_, on those cold
dirty stones."

"Dirt is nothing," said Norton, buttoning up his great coat
comfortably. He had just loosened it to get at some change for the car
fare.

"Dirt is nothing?" repeated Matilda looking at him.

"I mean, Pink," said he laughing, "it is nothing to them. They are as
dirty as they can be already; a little more or less makes no
difference."

"I wonder if they are as cold as they can be, too," said Matilda
meditatively.

"No!" said Norton. "Not they. They are used to it. They don't feel it."

"How can you tell, Norton?"

"I can tell. I can see. They are jolly enough sometimes; when they