exclamation of pain. Mother looked down, and there beside her
was a little ragged girl."

"Very good," observed the director, now hopelessly idle.

"The thief!" exclaimed Mr. Bamberger.

"Louder," put in the director, finding it almost impossible to
keep his hands off.

"The thief!" roared poor Bamberger.

"Yes, but a thief hardly six years old, with a face like an
angel's. 'Stop,' said my mother. 'What are you doing?'

"'Trying to steal,' said the child.

"'Don't you know that it is wicked to do so?' asked my father.

"'No,' said the girl, 'but it is dreadful to be hungry.'

"'Who told you to steal?' asked my mother.

"'She--there,' said the child, pointing to a squalid woman in a
doorway opposite, who fled suddenly down the street. 'That is
old Judas,' said the girl."

Mrs. Morgan read this rather flatly, and the director was in
despair. He fidgeted around, and then went over to Mr. Quincel.