d not care if the floor was all covered with heaps of dirt, and she
would go out into the street with the rags flying all about her, and her
hair in masses of thick tangles, and her face quite black and ugly. Now
she scrubs up the room very often, and you never see any of the
streamers hanging from her garments, for she mends them as well as she
can, and she makes free use of the nice water that is a blessing of such
magnitude to the poor. Her hair too is always glossy and smooth--no
matter if she does have to wear a coarse frock, and an old and faded
bonnet, they are whole, and that is far better than rags or dirt. She
isn't a bit ashamed of them nor of her bare feet, for they are so white
that the blue veins are plainly visible, and things are so much better
than they used to be.

"This is a very pleasant morning, what with the nice little girl, and
baby's new blanket!" and she went to fold it up and lay it in a safe
place for the next day, when a rough hand caught it from her.

"What have we here?" said her drunken father; "embroidered, eh! that's
good luck, indeed! I'll take it, child, it's just the thing, it will
bring a good price!"

"Oh! don't, please don't sell Winnie's blanket, father!" pleaded Nannie;
"it is all she has that's decent, and a good little girl brought it on
purpose for her, please don't take that, father!" But the man was gone,
and while the girl sat sobbing over her loss, he was greedily swallowing
its price as he had done that of many a nice article before.

CHAPTER II.

"Matches? shoe-lacings? buttons? only a penny a dozen, ma'am!" and the
foot-sore woman presses her face to the basement windows, and holds up
her wares with a strange pertinacity, even though the mistress of the
mansion shakes her head many times, saying, "not to-day;" and turns to
discuss some trifling subject as if there were not starvation and misery
in the tones that are dying upon her ear. Heart-sick and desponding, the
poor woman turns away, and renews her entreaties at the next neighbor's,
perchance to be spurned again and again; for the cosy tea-hour has
arrived, and husband and children are all gathered around the
well-spread board, and it is annoying to be disturbed by beggars, now.

The pleading voice, and scanty raiment, and woe-begone expression, jar
sadly upon the glad home-circle that is teeming with content, and
plenty, and cheerfulness, and it is easier to send such forlornities
off, and trouble y