fe from the little worn
boots in her lap; the rickety, uncovered table, with a bunch of
endives on a plate, and a candle guttering in a bottle. This was the
picture, redeemed from squalor only by the lithograph of the Virgin on
the wall, draped with fresh wild flowers, and its perfect cleanliness;
this was the home of the supposed "kidnapper," the man who had refused
to accept five thousand francs as a reward.

While I stood, stiff and uncomfortable, the Boy went forward quickly,
begging the two women not to rise. "Poor, dear little baby!" he said
in Italian, looking down at the dark scrap of humanity in the
grandmother's arms. "She is ill, isn't she?"

Now, how did he know that the creature was a "she"? If it were a
guess, it was a lucky one, for both women replied together that the
little girl had been ailing since yesterday. They could not tell what
was the matter. They had hoped that she would be better to-day, but
instead, she seemed worse; and with this, a glittering film which had
been overspreading the mother's eyes, suddenly dissolved into silently
falling rain. There were no sobs, no gaspings from this tired woman,
too used to sorrow to rail against it, yet it was plain to see that
her heart was breaking. Still, life must go on: and so, while she
grieved for a little one she feared to lose, she cleaned the boots of
those she hoped to keep.

"Have you called a doctor for her?" asked the Boy.

"The good priest is half a doctor. He came to see the _bambina_."

"What did he say?"

"Oh, Signor, we cannot give her all the things he said she should
have, nor can he help us to them, for he has much to do for others,
and little to do it with."

"Yet you would not let your husband take the reward I offered for
finding my bag. He is out of work, and you are poor; you have four
children to feed, and one of them is ill. Why will you not have the
money? I have come to ask you that. You see, I _want_ you to have it,
for the bag is worth all I've offered and even more to me."

"Ah, Signor, how can I tell you? It was to save my baby I refused."

"Please tell. You need not mind saying anything to me--or to my
friend. We are interested and want to help you."

Now the young woman's tears were falling fast, but silently still, as
if she knew that her heart-break was unimportant in the great scheme
of things, and she wished to make no noise about it. Her lips moved,
but no words came.

"She will not speak against me,"