road, as regardless of the dust as
were the children, and drawing the sobbing child close to her, took her
handkerchief from her pocket and gently wiped its little, dirty, smeared
face, and began comforting it in soothing tones. Keith had come up and
stood watching her with quickening breath. All he could see under her
hat was an oval chin and the dainty curve of a pink cheek where it faded
into snow, and at the back of a small head a knot of brown hair resting
on the nape of a shapely neck. For the rest, she had a trim figure and
wore new gloves which fitted perfectly. Keith mentally decided that she
must be about sixteen or seventeen years old, and, from the glimpse he
had caught of her, must be pretty. He became conscious suddenly that he
had on his worst suit of clothes.

"Good evening," he said, raising his hand to his hat.

The girl glanced up just as the hat was lifted.

"How do you do?"

Their eyes met, and the color surged into Keith's face, and the hat came
off with quite a flourish.

Why, she was beautiful! Her eyes were as blue as wet violets.

"I will help you hunt for it," he said half guilefully, half kindly.
"Where did she drop it?" He did not take his eyes from the picture of
the slim figure on her knees.

"She has lost her money, poor little dear! She was on her way to the
store to buy candy, and lost all her money."

At this fresh recital of her loss, the little, smeared face began to
pucker again. But the girl cleared it with a kiss.

"There, don't cry. I will give you some. How much was it? A nickel! A
whole nickel!" This with the sweetest smile. "Well, you shall have a
quarter, and that's four nickels--I mean five."

"She is not strong on arithmetic," said Keith to himself. "She is like
Phrony in that."

She began to feel about her skirt, and her face changed.

"Oh, I haven't a cent. I have left my purse at the hotel." This was to
Keith.

"Let me give it to her." And he also began to feel in his pocket, but as
he did so his countenance fell. He, too, had not a cent.

"I have left my purse at home, too," he said. "We shall have to do like
the woman in the Bible, and sweep diligently till we find the money
she lost."

"We are a pauper lot," said Alice Yorke, with a little laugh. Then, as
she glanced into the child's big eyes that were beginning to be troubled
again, she paused. The next second she drew a small bracelet from her
wrist, and began to pull at a small gold charm. "Here