“I will wait until she comes, if you don’t object.”
“No, I will be glad, and I guess I’d better put this soup on and warm it, for she’ll be cold and hungry.”
A few moments and a rattle at the door announced the “kid’s” coming. She was a sweet-faced child, but the beauty which would have been visible under favorable circumstances was marred by the pinched, drawn expression which always attends want. Without ado, or bashfulness, she unrolled a bundle, shouting, “Look Granny, two for you and two for me. The lady had some of her own that was too big and she said you could have ’em.”
And there, under the rays of light shed from the tin lamp, I saw articles of silk underwear with a monogram on the waistband, the same which adorned an invitation to a party for one night next week, which I had received that morning and now carried in my pocket.
TALE FOUR.
A WOMAN OF THIRTY-EIGHT.
“Look at his pretty face for just one minute!
His braided frock and dainty buttoned shoes;
His firm shut hand, the favorite plaything in it—