, ragged shawl, and showed him
her little child. "Give me," said she, "only enough to bury it. I want
nothing for myself. I had nothing but my baby to care for."

The poet bowed his head over the little one, and fast his tears fell on
the poor, pale face, and like pearls the tears shone on the soft, white
cheek, while he whispered in the ear of the woman, "Their angels do
always behold the face of Our Father." And he gave her what she needed,
and gently covered the baby's face again with the tattered shawl, and
the mother went away.

Then a child came up and said--now this was a poor street beggar,
remember, a boy whom people called _as bold as a thief_--he came and
looked at Tiny, and said gently, as if speaking to an elder brother whom
he loved and trusted: "My father and mother are dead; I have a little
brother and sister at home, and they depend on me; I have been trying to
get work, but no one believes my story. I would like to take a loaf of
bread home to them."

And Tiny, looking at the boy, seemed to read his heart, and he said,
laying his hand on the poor fellow's shoulder, "Be always as patient,
and gentle, and believing as you are now, and you will have bread for
them and to spare, without fear."

Then came an old, old man bending on his staff, and he spoke out
sharply, as if he were half starved, and all he said was, "Bread!" and
with that he held out his hand as if all he had to do was to ask, in
order to get what he wanted.

For a moment Tiny made him no answer, and some persons who had heard the
demand, and saw that Tiny gave him nothing, began to laugh. But at that
sound Tiny rebuked them with his look, and put his hand into the purse.

The old man saw all this, and he said, "I am tired of begging, I am
tired of saying, `for mercy's sake give to me,'--for people don't have
mercy--they know nothing about being merciful, and they don't care for
mercy's sake. I don't beg of you, Mr Poet. I only ask you as if you
were my son, and that's all. Give me bread. I'm starving."

And Tiny said, "For my dear father's sake take this--God forbid that _I_
should ever be deaf when an old man with a wrinkled face and white hair
speaks to me."

Afar off stood a young girl looking at the poet. Tiny saw her, and that
she needed something of him, though she did not come and ask, and so he
beckoned to her. She came at that, and as she drew nearer he fancied
that she had been weeping, and that her grief had