looked sharply at them, and called out,

"Hullo, Mother Winch! What's up to-night?"

"Nothing, yer honor,--nothing at all. Me and little Biddy Mahoney's
going to leave some duds at the pawnbroker's for her mother, who's
most dead with the fever."

"Well, well, go along; only look out you carry no more than you
honestly come by," said the policeman, walking leisurely up the
street.

Mother Winch turned in the opposite direction, and, still tightly
grasping 'Toinette's arm, led her through one street after another,
until, tired and bewildered, the poor child clung with half-closed
eyes to the filthy skirts of the old woman, and stumbled along,
neither seeing nor knowing which way they went.

"Hold up, can't ye, gal!" exclaimed Mother Winch, as the child
tripped, and nearly fell. "Or, if you're so tired as all that, set
down on that door-stone, and wait for me a minute." Pushing her down
upon the step as she spoke, Mother Winch hurried away so fast, that,
before 'Toinette's tired little brain could fairly understand what
was said, she found herself alone, with no creature in sight all up
and down the narrow street, except a cross-looking dog walking
slowly along the pavement toward her. For one moment, she sat
wondering what she had better do; and then, as the cross-looking
dog fixed his eyes upon her with a sullen growl, she started to her
feet, and ran as fast as she could in the direction taken by Mother
Winch. Just at the corner of the alley, something glittering upon