Rose took her position, feeling very much ashamed, and almost ready to cry. She wished she could escape the necessity; but looking across the street she saw Martin furtively shaking his fist at her, and turned desperately to follow his directions.
The boat was just in, and a throng of passengers was passing through the gate.
"Give me a few pennies for my poor sick mother," said Rose, to a good-natured-looking man who passed her.
He looked at her anxious face, and something in it excited his pity. He took out ten cents, and gave it to her. Rose took it, feeling very much ashamed, and turned to the next passer.
"Give me a few pennies for my poor sick mother," she said.
"Out of the way there, you young beggar!" said he, roughly. "Such nuisances as you are ought to be sent to the Island."
Rose drew back alarmed at this rough language, and for a moment kept silent, hardly daring to renew her appeal. But a look at James Martin's threatening face compelled her to continue, and again she made the appeal.
This time it was a lady she addressed,—mild and pleasant,—who paused a moment, and spoke gently.
"Is your mother quite sick, my dear?" she asked, in a voice of compassion.
"Yes, ma'am," answered Rose, faintly, ashamed of the falsehood she was uttering.