ruide replied, in her sad,
crushed voice. "We didn't get on very well; he soon got tired of me."

"That was a weakness of his," remarked Koosje, drily.

"We lost five little ones, one after another," Truide continued. "And
Jan was fond of them, and somehow it seemed to sour him. As for me, I
was sorry enough at the time, Heaven knows, but it was as well. But Jan
said it seemed as if a curse had fallen upon us; he began to wish you
back again, and to blame me for having come between you. And then he
took to _genever_, and then to wish for something stronger; so at last
every stiver went for absinthe, and once or twice he beat me, and then
he died."

"Just as well," muttered Koosje, under her breath.

"It is very good of you to have fed and warmed us," Truide went on, in
her faint, complaining tones. "Many a one would have let me starve, and
I should have deserved it. It is very good of you and we are grateful;
but 'tis time we were going, Koosje and Mina;" then added, with a shake
of her head, "but I don't know where."

"Oh, you'd better stay," said Koosje, hurriedly. "I live in this big
house by myself, and I dare say you'll be more useful in the shop than
Yanke--if your tongue is as glib as it used to be, that is. You know
some English, too, don't you?"

"A little," Truide answered, eagerly.

"And after all," Koosje said, philosophically, shrugging her shoulders,
"you saved me from the beatings and the starvings and the rest. I owe
you something for that. Why, if it hadn't been for you I should have
been silly enough to have married him."

And then she went back to her shop, saying to herself:

"The professor said it was a blessing in disguise; God sends all our
trials to work some great purpose. Yes; that was what he said, and he
knew most things. Just think if I were trailing about now with those
two little ones, with nothing to look back to but a schnapps-drinking
husband who beat me! Ah, well, well! things are best as they are. I
don't know that I ought not to be very much obliged to her--and she'll
be very useful in the shop."

A DOG OF FLANDERS, by Ouida

Nello and Patrasche were left all alone in the world.

They were friends in a friendship closer than brotherhood. Nello was
a little Ardennois; Patrasche was a big Fleming. They were both of the
same age by length of years; yet one was still young, and the other was
already old. They had dwelt together almost all their days; both were
orph