it fine?"

"What have you done with the children?" asked Hester. "Yes, I'm glad
you're in for a bit of pleasure, Mrs. Jones."

"See," said Mrs. Jones, pushing aside her shawl with a triumphant
smile, "you overlooked her, the crowd's so great, but little Sarah's
here. I put the others to bed, and neighbor Bryce will feed Tommy if
he cries; but I brought little Sal along o' me. My! ain't she peart
with delight? We're both that starved to see a bit of real gentry life,
and to hear a good song or two."

Sal was a very minute maiden of eight years of age. Her whole small
face was radiant with anticipation, but she could see nothing over the
heads of the crowd. Instantly Hester lifted her into her arms.

"Lean on me, Sal," she said, "and look your fill. See, the curtain is
up, and the play is going to begin."

It was a new piece and alas! only half prepared. A wretched performance
it would have been at its best, badly put on, badly acted--coarse,
common, the reverse of all that was lifelike; but, nevertheless, these
eager, hungry, expectant people would have been abundantly content
with the most extravagant representations if they had only been carried
on with the smallest show of life or spirit. The actors, however, who
none of them knew their parts, struggled on miserably for a scene or
two, and then broke down utterly. It does not cost much to go to a
penny theatre, but the people who frequent such places are, of all
those in the world, the most anxious to get their money's worth. There
was instantly an uproar and a clamor, and the house resounded with