clo'ses, and carry me home. Then mamma will give me a gingham dress
and a sun-bonnet; and maybe she'll give you my pretty things, if you
want them."

"Thanky for nothing, miss. I reckon it'll be a saving of trouble to
take em now. I don't b'lieve a word about your ma'am giving 'em to
you; and, more'n all, I don't b'lieve you've got no ma'am."

So saying, she rudely stripped off, first the dress, then the
underclothes, and finally even the, stockings and pretty
gaiter-boots; so that the poor child, frightened, ashamed, and
angry, stood at last with no covering but the long ringlets of her
golden hair, which, as she, sobbing, hid her face in her hands, fell
about her like a veil.

Leaving her thus, the old woman rummaged for a few moments in a heap
of clothes thrown into the corner of the room,--the result,
apparently, of many a day's begging or theft. From them she
presently produced a child's nightgown, petticoat, and woollen
skirt, a pair of coarse shoes much worn, and an old plaid shawl:
with these she approached 'Toinette.

"See! I've got your own clo'es here all ready for you. Ain't I
good?"

"They ain't my clothes: I won't have 'em on. Go away, you naughty
lady, you ain't good a bit!" screamed 'Toinette, passionately
striking at the clothes and the hand that held them.

"Come, come, miss, none o' them airs! Take that, now, and mend your