e street lamps were not bright enough to betray this little
watcher to the gaze of the young people who were dancing under the light
of brilliant chandeliers, and sending the sweet music of their happy
voices out through the open windows into the silent street, where a few
moments before little Madge Lee had been trying to sell matches. So she
had ceased her cry of "Matches! matches!" which seemed so feeble in
comparison to the sounds of merry music that filled the street as she
came slowly along, and had clambered like a little monkey to the top of
the iron fence, where at last she sat securely, watching the good time
going on inside the beautiful rooms.

Madge had never in all the eight years of her life owned such things as
a white dress, slippers, or sash. And as for "curls in her hair," her
own round head was like a boy's, so closely was the dark hair cut.

Madge, with several others as unfortunate as herself, lived with an old
woman who cared for them only according to the pennies they could bring
in to her each night. Whether the pennies were begged or stolen or
honestly earned made little difference to her. The children were all
waifs and strays whom nobody owned or seemed to care for, and, with the
exception of little Madge, none of them had ever known a parent's love.
Her father died when she was a baby, and after a few years' struggle
with poverty, her dear mother had followed him, leaving her child to the
tender mercies of Mrs. McLane. For two years Madge had lived with this
woman, roaming the streets by day, and sleeping on a handful of straw at
night. She was scolded when she failed to bring in her usual amount of
pennies, oftener whipped than scolded, and never spoken kindly to except
by some kind-hearted stranger in the street.

On this night her little heart had seemed more than ever despondent and
weary, for people didn't want her matches, and pushed her aside when she
would have offered them. And she was just about ready to cry, when the
sound of music fell upon her ear, and drew her toward the house from
whence it proceeded.

While she sat upon the railing, intent upon the scene before her, a
voice at her side startled her.

"Is it here ye are, Madge Lay? Bad luck to ye, thin, won't ye be afther
catchin' the lickin' from Granny McLane for not sellin' yer matches!
Sure ye needn't be invyin' the stoyle of yer betthers as kin dance, for
lookat!" and seizing what little remained to her of a skirt, Bi