so puzzle the learned archaeologists of A.D. 5873 as the position of the
skeletons in these same waiting-rooms of railway stations.

Thinking such thoughts as these, sinking slowly and surely to the level of
the place, I waited, on this bleak, rainy day, in just such a "Ladies'
Room" as I have described. I sat in the red-velvet stocks, with my eyes
fixed on the floor.

"Please, ma'am, won't you buy a basket?" said a cheery little voice. So
near me, without my knowing it, had the little tradesman come that I was
as startled as if the voice had spoken out of the air just above my head.

He was a sturdy little fellow, ten years old, Irish, dirty, ragged; but he
had honest, kind gray eyes, and a smile which ought to have sold more
baskets than he could carry. A few kind words unsealed the fountain of his
childish confidences. There were four children younger than he; the mother
took in washing, and the father, who was a cripple from rheumatism, made
these baskets, which he carried about to sell.

"Where do you sell the most?"

"Round the depots. That's the best place."

"But the baskets are rather clumsy to carry. Almost everybody has his
hands full, when he sets out on a journey."

"Yis'm; but mostly they doesn't take the baskets. But they gives me a
little change," said he, with a smile; half roguish, half sad.

I watched him on in his pathetic pilgrimage round that dreary room,