o work in the factory."

"But they are just recovering from sickness; they are too young to
work. O, where, where can we go?"

"To the poorhouse," said the landlord, fiercely.

The poor woman rose, and approaching the landlord's feet, fell upon
her knees, clasped her hands, and looked upward in his stern and
unrelenting face.

"Israel Wurm," she said, "has your heart grown as hard as the nether
millstone? Have you forgotten the days of old lang syne? O, remember
that we were once prosperous and happy; remember that misfortune and
not sin has reduced me and mine to the deplorable state in which you
find us. Remember that my husband was your early friend--your
schoolfellow--your playmate. Remember that when he was rich and you
poor, he gave you from his plenty--freely--bountifully--not gave with
the expectation of a return; his gifts were bounties, not loans."

"Therefore I owed him nothing," said the obdurate miser, turning away.

"You shall hear me out," said the woman, starting to her feet. "I ask
for a further delay; I ask you to stay the hard hand of the law. You
profess to be a Christian; I demand justice and mercy in the name of
those sleeping innocents, my poor grandchildren, whose father is in
heaven. You _shall_ be merciful."

"Heyday!" exclaimed the miser; "this is fine talk, upon my word. You
_demand_ justice, do you? Well, you shall have it. The law is on my
side, and I will carry it out to the letter."

"Then," said the outraged woman, stretching forth her trembling hand,
"the curse of the widow and the orphan shall be upon you. Sleeping or
waking, it shall haunt you; and on your miserable death bed, when the
ugly shapes that throng about the pillow of the dying sinner shall
close around you, our malediction shall weigh like lead upon you, and
your palsied lips shall fail to articulate the impotent prayer for
that mercy to yourself which you denied to others. And now begone.
This house is mine to-night, at least. Afflict it no longer with your
presence. Go forth into the night; it is not darker than your
benighted soul, nor is the north wind one half so pitiless as you."

With a bitter curse upon his lips, but trembling and dismayed in spite
of himself, Israel Wurm left the presence of the indignant victim of
his cruelty, and turned his footsteps in the direction of his home.
His _home_! It scarcely deserved the name. There was no fire there to
thaw his chilled and trembling frame--no light to glea