and her blue eyes flashing with
indignation and defiance.

"That is terrible, such a day as this," said George Ramsey.

"Yes; I had no idea they were quite so badly off," murmured his
mother.

"You ought to have had some idea," flashed out Maria.

"We had not, Miss Edgham," said George, gently. "You must remember
how very distant the relationship is. I believe it begins with the
fourth generation from myself. And there are other reasons--"

"There ought not to be other reasons," Maria said.

Mrs. Ramsey looked with wonder and something like terror and aversion
at this pretty, violent girl, who was espousing so vehemently, not to
say rudely, the cause of the distant relatives of her husband's
family. The son, however, continued to smile amusedly at Maria.

"Won't you sit down, Miss Edgham?" he said.

"Yes, won't you sit down?" his mother repeated, feebly.

"No, thank you," said Maria. "I only came about this. I--I would do
something for the poor little thing myself, but I haven't any money
now, and Aunt Maria would, and Uncle Henry, and Aunt Eunice, but
they--"

All at once Maria, who was hardly more than a child herself, and who
had been in reality frightfully wrought up over the piteous plight of
the other child, lost control of herself. She began to cry. She put
her handkerchief to her face and sobbed helplessly.

"The poor little thing! oh, the poor little thing!" she panted, "with
nobody in the world to do anything for her, and her own people so
terribly wicked. I--can't bear it!"

The first thing she knew, Maria was having a large, soft cloak folded
around her, and somebody was leading her gently to the door. She
heard a murmured good-night, to which she did not respond except by a
sob, and was led, with her arm rather closely held, along the
sidewalk to her own door. At the door George Ramsey took her hand,
and she felt something pressed softly into it.

"If you will please buy what the poor little thing needs to make her
comfortable," he whispered.

"Thank you," Maria replied, faintly. She began to be ashamed of her
emotion.

"You must not think that my mother and I were knowing to this,"
George Ramsey said. "We are really such very distant relations that
the name alone is the only bond between us; still, on general
principles, if the name had been different, I would do what I could.
Such suffering is terrible. You must not think us hard-hearted, Miss
Edgham."

Maria looked up at the young f