The gentleman was growing impatient. "No, no; go along; that's all
right."

But Billy knew it would not be all right when he got home, so he
made one more effort. "How'd you like to send it out to Miss Hazy?"
he inquired.

"Well, Miss Hazy, not having the pleasure of my acquaintance, might
object to the delicate attention. Who is she?"

"She's Chris's aunt; they ain't had no fire fer two days."

"Oh!" said the man, heartily, "take it to Miss Hazy, by all means.
Tell her it's from Mr. Bob, who is worse off than she is, for he
hasn't even a home."

An hour later there was wild excitement under the only tin roof in
the Cabbage Patch. Such scrubbing and brushing as was taking place!

"It's jes' like a peetrified air-castle," said Mrs. Wiggs, as she
pressed out Asia's best dress; "here I been thinkin' 'bout it, an'
wantin' to go, an' here I am actually gittin' ready to go! Come
here, child, and let me iron out yer plaits while the iron's good
an' hot."

This painful operation was performed only on state occasions; each
little Wiggs laid her head on the ironing-board, a willing sacrifice
on the altar of vanity, while Mrs. Wiggs carefully ironed out five
plaits on each head. Europena was the only one who objected to being