ch looked down into a
brown back-yard; but her aunt kept the room neat and clean; the bed
stood off by itself, in one corner, the two chairs on either side of the
table, and in the cupboard were a few plates and cups, with which the
scanty table was spread; yet was this room dear to the child, since the
dreams she had dreamed there hung over her still with their light and
love.

It chanced, one day, that her aunt fell sick--so sick as to be obliged
to lie on the bed. For a long time she had not been able to do any hard
work, but had sat at home and made little brooms for Cybele to take out
with her when she went to play the tambourine about the streets. And
Cybele had seen how her aunt grew pale, day by day, but she had not
dreamed the time would come when her aunt must lay still on the bed for
weariness.

With a heavy heart she took the brooms and the tambourine, and went out,
hoping to get a few pennies, and bring home a doctor for her aunt.

But it was a sad day for Cybele. She was rudely sent away from the doors
at which she stopped, and though she stood long before the windows of
lordly houses, in which she felt were many persons, still the sashes
were left down, and no kind group appeared to encourage her. So she
passed on, through quiet squares and noisy streets, but everywhere met
with a repulse.

What should she do? It was impossible to go home without money. She
thought of the poor aunt who was sick, and of the mother who lay away in
the gardens of Italy, and new courage came into her soul. A gentleman
came toward her, with ruddy cheeks and smooth, rich clothes. Surely he
will not turn away from the little child. So she stepped forward, and,
when he came near, she looked up in his face, saying,

"Please, sir, will you not buy one of my brooms?"

But he brushed by her, unheeding her gentle tones, and leaving her eyes
filled with tears.

Then came along a careless boy, whistling a merry tune, and with his
hands thrust into his pockets. Confidence and hope made her ask him
also.

"Please, will you buy a broom?"

The boy stopped, and, still whistling, looked into her face, glanced
over her dress, tambourine and brooms; and, as his eyes rested upon
these last, he replied:

"Buy a broom! Pray, what think you I want with one of those flimsy
things?" And then he looked at her as though he thought her so absurd!

Cybele was abashed by his manner, and began to think she had asked him
to do a very foolish