"Only five cents a package!" the little fellow continued to cry; and he looked wistfully in the faces of those who passed him, hoping for a possible purchaser.
"Clear out of my way there, you brat!" said a rough voice. "Do you want to take up the whole sidewalk?"
The boy shrank timidly, as the man who had addressed him swaggered by. He would not have dared to resent the rudeness, but another did. It was a stout, and healthy-looking woman, with a large basket on her arm, whose heart warmed towards the poor little match boy, sent out so early to earn his livelihood.
"You ought to be ashamed to speak to the poor boy that way!" she said, warmly.
"Mind your business, woman!" retorted Lyman Taylor, for it was he whose rough speech had been quoted.
"I always do," said the woman. "It's my business to speak my mind to such brutes as you!"
Lyman vented his wrath in a volley of oaths, for his language was by no means choice, when his anger was excited. He might have been more prudent, if he had known that a policeman was just behind.
"Stop that, my man, unless you want me to take you in!" said the burly officer.
Lyman Taylor turned sharply round, but quailed when he saw the officer.
"This woman has insulted me," he said, sullenly.