A pair of hungry, pleading blue eyes came like a vision to Maggie. Before the ring of the silver had died away, she sprang forward like a tiger and seized the dollar.
"Thief! thief!" cried a chorus of voices and two or three seized her.
"By the Lord, it's Mag! my Mag! Give that money where it belongs, and tell what brings you here, you huzzy," and Damon Crowley seized his daughter by the shoulder and shook her savagely.
"I will give it where it belongs, and that will be to mother. I came here for you, father. Mother is sick and cold and nearly starved. The children are all crying for something to eat and the coal is gone; and this is the last?"
She opened her hand and looked at the dollar. Damon Crowley reached for it, but quick as a flash she closed her fingers over it and thrust her hand behind her.
"Never," she said firmly. "This is the last. It shall be ours to buy mother some tea and the children some bread."
"Give me that money, you devilish brat!" and stepping forward he struck her a blow in the face.
She staggered.
Some of the bystanders laughed. Some called her a plucky girl, and one, more nearly drunk than the rest, thinking that he was in a dog pit no doubt, called lustily, "Sic 'em! Sic 'em!"