little Jew girl, with whole centuries of suffering behind
one.

On this day she had taken a book from the library Miss
Perkins, at sight of the title, had glared disapprovingly,
and had hesitated a moment before stamping the card.

"Is this for yourself?" she had asked.

"Yes'm."

"It isn't a book for little girls," snapped Miss Perkins.

"I've read half of it already," Fanny informed her sweetly.
And went out with it under her arm. It was Zola's "The
Ladies' Paradise" (Au Bonheur des Dames). The story of
the shop girl, and the crushing of the little dealer by the
great and moneyed company had thrilled and fascinated her.

Her mind was full of it as she turned the corner on Norris Street
and ran full-tilt, into a yowling, taunting, torturing little pack
of boys. They were gathered in close formation about some object
which they were teasing, and knocking about in the mud, and
otherwise abusing with the savagery of their years. Fanny, the
fiery, stopped short. She pushed into the ring. The object of
their efforts was a weak-kneed and hollow-chested little boy
who could not fight because he was cowardly as well as weak,
and his name (oh, pity!) was Clarence--Clarence Heyl. There
are few things that a mischievous group of small boys cannot
do with a name like Clarence. They whined it, they