she knew no sale for her wares lay there. Her favorite stand was under
a lamp post, close to the largest of the clubs. The light of the lamp
fell full on her face and figure, and shone on the evening papers which
she offered for sale. Her customers came up as usual, bought what they
required of her, one or two giving her a careless and some a friendly
"good-evening." No one noticed her pallid cheeks, nor the heavy depths
of trouble in her red-brown eyes. Her luck, however, was good, and she
had almost sold all her little stock of papers, when a vibrating and
rather peculiar voice at her elbow caused her to start and turn quickly.

"Is that you, Hester Wright?" she said, speaking in an almost pettish
voice. "Well, I can't go with you to-night, no how; I'm off home this
minute."

"Why, Bet, is yer mother took worse?" asked the voice. It vibrated
again, and two sweet though rather wild-looking eyes gazed full into
Bet's tired, white face.

"Mother," said the girl. She made a valiant struggle, but no more words
would come.

After about a moment she spoke in a strained and totally altered voice:

"Let me be for to-night, Hester. I've sold my papers, and I'm going
home."

"No, you're not, honey; you're coming along o' me. Don't I see as yer
white with the grief, and half distraught like. There, I'm alone
tonight, unless Will should drop in; come and have a cup o' tea with
me, Bet."