"The very next day, however, being Sunday, my uncle found her as he went to church. She was sweeping a new crossing. She seemed to have found a lower deep still, for, alas! all her new clothes were gone, and she was more tattered and wretched-looking than before. As soon as she saw my uncle she burst into tears.
"'Look,' she said, pulling up her little frock, and showing her thigh with a terrible bruise upon it; 'she did it.'
"A fresh burst of tears followed.
"'Where are your new clothes, Little Christmas?' asked my uncle.
"'She sold them for gin, and then beat me awful. Please, sir, I couldn't help it.'
"The child's tears were so bitter, that my uncle, without thinking, said—
"'Never mind, dear; you shall have another frock.'
"Her tears ceased, and her face brightened for a moment; but the weeping returned almost instantaneously with increased violence, and she sobbed out:
"'It's no use, sir; she'd only serve me the same, sir.'
"'Will you come home and live with me, then?'