the pieces.

"And now for No. 1," said she whom I so absolutely hated; "I think
there is still enough for a pair of slippers. There's nothing so
nice for the house as good black cloth slippers that are warm to the
feet and don't show the dirt." And so saying, she spread out on the
floor the lacerated remainders.

"There's a nice bit there," said young lady No. 2, poking at one of
the pockets with the end of her parasol.

"Yes," said the harpy, contemplating her plunder. "But I'm thinking
whether I couldn't get leggings as well. I always wear leggings in
the thick of the winter." And so she concluded her operations, and
there was nothing left but a melancholy skeleton of seams and
buttons.

All this having been achieved, they pocketed their plunder and
prepared to depart. There are people who have a wonderful appetite
for relics. A stone with which Washington had broken a window when
a boy--with which he had done so or had not, for there is little
difference; a button that was on a coat of Napoleon's, or on that of
one of his lackeys; a bullet said to have been picked up at Waterloo
or Bunker's Hill; these, and suchlike things are great treasures.
And their most desirable characteristic is the ease with which they
are attained. Any bullet or any button does the work. Faith alone
is necessary. And now these ladies had made themselves happy and
glorious with "Relics" of General Chasse cut from the ill-used
habiliments of an elderly English gentleman!