"Poor dear lady!" was the exclamation of Sally's attentive listeners.
"Even the rich have troubles also," said Mrs. Turner with a pitying sigh.
"Wait a bit, I 'aint told you all yet," cried the girl; "well, I just then thought of what Pollie told us about the lady who gave her a shilling the very first day she went with me selling violets. So I says—
"It warn't me, marm, you saw that day; it was little Pollie!"
"'Yes, that was the name,' says she; 'and where is little Pollie?'
"With that I up and told her as how Pollie wasn't well, and so she says, 'I will come to see her directly I have finished my business in the City.' Oh, Lor'!" cried Sally, suddenly pausing in her story, "here she be, I'm sure, for there's some one coming up the stairs with Mrs. Flanagan, some one who don't wear big heavy boots too; can't you hear?"
Sally was right; for the kindly face of their neighbour appeared in the doorway, ushering in "the beautiful lady."
"And so this is little Pollie," the sweet voice said, as, after speaking cheerfully to the widow and the others who were in the room, she stood beside the sick child. "Well, Pollie, I have come to see you at last, and in return for the beautiful violets you gave me a year ago, I will, with our merciful Father's blessing us, put some roses on your white cheeks."