"Do you go to Sunday school anywhere?"
The girl sprang from her at this minute to clear the way for some dainty steppers, where the muddy snow had been flung by the horses' feet just a moment before; and to hold her hand for the penny, which was not given. Slowly she came back to Matilda.
"Do most of the people give you something?"
"No," said the girl. "Most of 'em don't."
"Do you go to Sunday school on Sundays?"
"O yes: I go to Mr. Rush's Sunday school, in Forty Second street."
"Why, I go there," said Matilda. "Who's your teacher?"
The girl's face quite changed as she now looked at her; it grew into a sort of answering sympathy of humanity; there was almost a dawning smile.
"I remember you," she said; "I didn't at first, but I do now. You were in the class last Sunday. I am in Mr. Wharncliffe's class."
"Why so do I remember you!" cried Matilda. "You are Sarah?"