ought what pretty eyes they were and wondered who she
was. Once he fell down, and bag and baby rolled in the snow; but only
the vigorous kicking of a pair of little legs inside the bag showed that
the child disapproved of the proceeding, for she made no sound, and when
he picked her up she brushed the snow from his hair, and laughed as if
the thing had been done for fun.

He reached the cottage at last, and bursting into the room where his
grandmother was sitting with her foot in a chair, exclaimed, as he put
down the child, who, as she was still enveloped in the bag, stood with
difficulty:

'Oh grandma, what do you think? I did see a light in the Tramp House,
and there is somebody there--a woman--dead--frozen to death, with
nothing over her, for she had given her cloak and shawl to her little
girl. I went there. I found her, and brought the baby home in the
carpet-bag, and now I must go back to the woman. Oh, it was dreadful to
see her white face, and it is so cold there and dark;' and if the horror
of what he had seen had just impressed itself upon him, the boy turned
pale and faint, and, staggering to a chair, burst into tears.

Too much astonished to utter a word, Mrs. Crawford stared at him a
moment in a bewildered kind of way, and then when the child, seeing him
cry, began also to cry for "Mah-nee," and struggle in the bag, she
forgot her lame foot, on which she had not stepped for a week, and going
to the little girl, released her from the bag, and taking her upon her
lap, began to untie the soft woollen cloak and to chafe the cold
fingers, while she questioned her grandson.

Having recovered himself somewhat, Harold repeated his story, and asked
with a shudder:

'Must I go for her alone? I can't, I can't. I was not afraid with the
baby there, but it is so awful, and I never saw any one dead before.'

'Go back alone! Of course not!' his grandmother replied. 'But you must
go to the park at once and tell them; go as fast as you can. She may not
be dead.'

'Yes, she is,' Harold answered, decidedly. 'I touched her face, and
nothing alive could feel like that.'

He was buttoning his overcoat preparatory to a fresh start, but before
he went he kissed the little girl who was sitting on his grandmother's
lap, and who, as she saw him leaving her, began to cry for him and to
utter curious sounds unintelligible to them both. But Harold brought her
a piece of bread, which she began to devour ravenously, and then he