the toasting-stick in her hand, an ugly
look on her wasted features, a vile oath on her lips.

"To hell with the old farm," she says, and putting the pipe to her mouth
inhales it all, every bit, in one long breath, then falls back on her
pillow in drunken stupor.

That is what the sun of a winter day saw and heard in Mott Street.

It had travelled far toward the west, searching many dark corners and
vainly seeking entry to others; had gilt with equal impartiality the
spires of five hundred churches and the tin cornices of thirty thousand
tenements, with their million tenants and more; had smiled courage and
cheer to patient mothers trying to make the most of life in the teeming
crowds, that had too little sunshine by far; hope to toiling fathers
striving early and late for bread to fill the many mouths clamoring to
be fed.

The brief December day was far spent. Now its rays fell across the
North River and lighted up the windows of the tenements in Hell's
Kitchen and Poverty Gap. In the Gap especially they made a brave show;
the windows of the crazy old frame-house under the big tree that set
back from the street looked as if they were made of beaten gold. But the
glory did not cross the threshold. Within it was dark and dreary and
cold. The room at the foot of the rickety, patched stairs was empty. The
last tenant was beaten to death by her husband in his drunken fury. The
sun's rays shunned the spot ever after, though it was long since it
could have made out the red daub from the mould on the rotten floor.

Upstairs, in the cold attic, where the wind wailed mournfully through
every open crack, a little girl sat sobbing as if her heart would break.
She hugged an old doll to her breast. The paint was gone from its face;
the yellow hair was in a tangle; its clothes hung in rags. But she only
hugged it closer. It was her doll. They had been friends so long, shared
hunger and hardship together, and now----.

Her tears fell faster. One drop trembled upon the wan cheek of the doll.
The last sunbeam shot athwart it and made it glisten like a priceless
jewel. Its glory grew and filled the room. Gone were the black walls,
the darkness and the cold. There was warmth and light and joy. Merry
voices and glad faces were all about. A flock of children danced with
gleeful shouts about a great Christmas-tree in the middle of the floor.
Upon its branches hung drums and trumpets and toys, and countless
candles gleamed like beautif