dispirited, she made her way back.

There was another reason, besides want of time, to prevent her making
a second attempt. The clothes with which she had been provided on
leaving Mill Bank Farm were almost worn out with the hard work she had
to do, and Mrs. Williams had as yet done nothing towards fulfilling
her promise of giving her necessary clothing, although Nelly's
tattered frock was worn beyond all possibility of repairing. Nelly was
conscious of the doubtful look with which she was regarded when she
asked for Lucy, and she shrank from again encountering it, and perhaps
bringing discredit on Miss Lucy in the eyes of her city friends by her
own disreputable appearance.

One afternoon in June--Mrs. Williams and her daughter being
out--Nelly, having a few minutes to spare, was standing at the open
door, listening to the plaintive strains of an organ-grinder who was
playing close by. His dark Italian face looked sad and careworn, and
the little girl beside him, evidently his daughter from the
resemblance between them, looked so pale and feeble, that it seemed as
if her little thin hands could scarcely support the tambourine she was
ringing in accompaniment to a little plaintive song. Nelly enjoyed the
performance exceedingly, but her admiration did not appear to be
shared by those whose applause was of more consequence, for not a
single penny found its way into the poor man's hat, either from the
inmates of the house or from the juvenile bystanders. His discouraged
air, and the sad, wistful eyes of the little girl, touched Nelly's
warm Irish heart, as he leaned on Mrs. Williams' doorsteps to rest
himself while he set down his organ, experience having taught him that
it was a useless waste of strength to play before that door.

Nelly, seeing how hot and tired he looked, impulsively asked the poor
man whether he would walk in and sit down, never stopping to think
whether she had a right to do so. He looked up, surprised at the
invitation, but thankfully accepted it, and Nelly brought two chairs
into the hall for him and the little girl. Then, as the only
entertainment she was able to supply, she filled two glasses with the
coldest water she could find, and shyly offered them to her guests.

"Ah, it is good," said the organ-grinder, when he had drained his
glass. "Many thanks," he added, in his foreign accent; and the little
girl looked up into Nelly's face with the sweetest, most expressive,
grateful smile.

"No