seeking help from that dreary circle of women.

My heart aches to write down here the true record that out of those scores
of women only three even smiled or spoke to the little fellow. Only one
gave him money. My own sympathies had been so won by his face and manner
that I found myself growing hot with resentment as I watched woman after
woman wave him off with indifferent or impatient gesture. His face was a
face which no mother ought to have been able to see without a thrill of
pity and affection. God forgive me! As if any mother ought to be able to
see any child, ragged, dirty, poor, seeking help and finding none! But his
face was so honest, and brave, and responsive that it added much to the
appeal of his poverty.

One woman, young and pretty, came into the room, bringing in her arms a
large toy horse, and a little violin. "Oh," I said to myself, "she has a
boy of her own, for whom she can buy gifts freely. She will surely give
this poor child a penny." He thought so, too; for he went toward her with
a more confident manner than he had shown to some of the others. No! She
brushed by him impatiently, without a word, and walked to the
ticket-office. He stood looking at the violin and the toy horse till she
came back to her seat. Then he lifted his eyes to her face again; but she
apparently did not see him, and he went away. Ah, she is only half mother
who does not see her own child in every child!--her own child's grief in
every pain which makes another child weep!

Presently the little basket-boy went out into the great hall. I watched
him threading his way in and out among the groups of men. I saw one
man--bless him!--pat the little fellow on the head; then I lost sight of
him.