t taking their
luggage. Then he and the lady took poor Duncan between them and led him
out into the streets, which were full of people and carriages.

It was, she supposed, because so many people looked at Duncan's pale
heavy face and tottering steps that the gentleman, after a a few
minutes, took him up and carried him. They went some little distance,
till they came to a small shop, the window of which was full of all
kinds of papers and pictures. The gentleman had some conversation with a
man behind the counter, who took them into a small room, where the lady
and gentleman bade them "Good-bye," and left them, saying they would
come back the next morning.

After a little time, a girl, dirty, ragged, and untidy, came into the
room, and taking Duncan up in her arms, carried him upstairs, Elsie
following with a candle.

The house seemed to be a tall one, for there were more stairs than Elsie
had ever seen in her life, and they were dark, steep, and narrow, so
that she frequently stumbled. The girl, however, went on quickly enough.
They paused at several landings with doors, from which came the noise of
voices, sometimes raised pretty high, as if in anger and dispute.

At last they reached a tiny room, quite up at the top of the house. It
had a low, sloping roof, much discoloured with damp and dirt, as were
also the walls. The floor was bare and black with dirt and age, the
whole apartment squalid and uncomfortable.

The girl laid Duncan down on the bed, and began removing his things with
a certain amount of gentleness; he seemed quite unable to do anything
for himself. When she had undressed him, she put back the bed-clothes.
Then she went away, and once more the children were alone together, and
very much alone, for Elsie noticed that the girl locked the door before
she went away.

(_To be continued._)

SOME MORE LITTLE PRESENTS, AND THE WAY TO MAKE THEM.[1]

[Footnote 1: See Little Folks, Vol. XVIII., page 291.]

[Illustration]

Are you ready to hear about more things which can be made with a
penknife? Then I am ready to tell you.

Amongst my acquaintances and friends are certain little toy-boat
builders, who bestow upon me from time to time boats fashioned by their
knives; vessels which would not, it is true, encounter stormy seas, and
therefore are not fitted for use, but which look taut and trim as they
lie in the quiet harbour of bracket or slab amongst other choice
ornaments. A rowing-boat, a