huckled, then looked grave, with an effort, as he stood
extending the money.

"Better take 'em an' buy the young one some clothes," he said.

"Who is this man?" demanded Maria, severely, of the laughing boy.

"It's Mr. John Dorsey," replied Franky.

Then a light of the underneath evil fire of the world broke upon
Maria's senses. She repelled the man haughtily.

"I don't want your money," said she. "But"--she turned to the
woman--"if you send that child to school again, clothed as she is
to-day, I will have you arrested. I mean it." With that she was gone,
with a proud motion. Laughter rang out after her, also a scolding
voice and an oath. She did not turn her head. She marched straight on
out of the yard, to the street, and home.

She could not eat her supper. She had a sick, shocked feeling.

"What is the matter?" her aunt Maria asked. "It's so cold you can't
have been bothered with the smells to-day."

"It's worse than smells," replied Maria. Then she told her story.

Her aunt stared at her. "Good gracious! You didn't go to that awful
house, a young girl like you?" she said, and her prim cheeks burned.
"Why, that man's livin' right there with Mrs. Ramsey, and her husband
winking at it! They are awful people!"

"I would have gone anywhere to get that poor child clothed decently,"
said Maria.

"But you wouldn't take his money!"

"I rather guess I wouldn't!"

"Well, I don't blame you, but I don't see what is going to be done."

"I don't," said Maria, helplessly. She reflected how she had disposed
already of her small stipend, and would not have any more for some
time, and how her own clothing no more than sufficed for her.

"I can't give her a thing," said Aunt Maria. "I'm wearin' flannels
myself that are so patched there isn't much left of the first of 'em,
and it's just so with the rest of my clothes. I'm wearin' a petticoat
made out of a comfortable my mother made before Henry was married. It
was quilted fine, and had a small pattern, if it is copperplate, but
I don't darse hold my dress up only just so. I wouldn't have anybody
know it for the world. And I know Eunice ain't much better off. They
had that big doctor's bill, and I know she's patched and darned so
she'd be ashamed of her life if she fell down on the ice and broke a
bone. I tell you what it is, those other Ramseys ought to do
something. I don't care if they are such distant relations, they
ought to do something."

After supper Maria an