"Food?"
"No; something better nor food."
As he held a big bottle in his hand, Bessie next suggested "Medicine?"
"Why, bless your swate sowl, do I look like a sick man?"
"No, sir; but I thought you walked as though something was the matter with your legs."
Patrick Magee gave a loud, foolish laugh, as he stumbled up the slippery steps, and reeled down the dirty alley. When he was gone, Bessie proposed to take leave of her pensioners, saying, "I must go home now, or I shall miss my dinner, and they will be troubled about me. Will you show me as far as Broadway, Molly?"
"Not so fast, if you plase, miss," said Mrs. Magee. "You have seen how poor people live; now I want you to feel how they are clad, this biting winter weather. Take off your fine clothes, just, and change with Molly there."
"O please, madam, I would rather go home," cried poor Bessie. "Do let me go! Mamma has often said, that, if I could be poor for one hour even, I would know better how to pity the poor; but I really think I have seen enough to-day. I am very sorry for you, indeed. I 'll ask papa to help you, and give you all you want; only let me go home."
"So you shall, my pretty bird, but you must drop your fine feathers first. Off with them! And, Molly, take off all thim lovely holiday clothes of yours. Sure, exchange is no robbery."
Poor Bessie saw it was vain for her to resist, to plead, or to cry. In a very short time she found herself divested of every article of her nice warm apparel, and clad in the dirty, coarse, tattered street clothes of Molly Magee.