One movement, a swift fall, and that white surface would be broken by a black shapeless heap. A policeman would find it on his next round, or some drunken reveler would stumble over it, or the good people on their way to early mass--ah! The seamed countenance lit up suddenly with a malignant joy. Why not wait until they began to pass--those pious, respectable people in their comfortable furs and wools--and cast herself into their midst, a ghastly Christmas offering from Poverty to Riches, from Sin to Virtue? This suggestion commended itself highly to her sense of humor. With a hoarse chuckle she was about to close the window when a portion of the shadow that lay alongside the chimney showed signs of life, and, rising on four long and skinny legs, became a cat--a lean, black cat, which crept meekly toward the window, its phosphorescent eyes gleaming, its lank jaws parted in a vain effort to mew. Startled, old Marg drew back for an instant; then, glancing from the animal to the pavement below, a brutal cunning, a malicious pleasure, lit up the witch-like features. Reaching out one skinny arm, she called coaxingly: "Puss! Puss!" The cat dragged herself up to the outstretched arm, rubbing her lank body caressingly against it. The cruel, cunning old face softened suddenly. "Lord!" muttered old Marg, "if she ain't a-tryin' to _purr_! Wall, that beats me!" The poor beast continued its piteous appeal for aid, arching its starved frame, waving its tail, fawning unsuspectingly against the arm that had threatened. With an impulse new to her misery-hardened heart, old Marg drew the animal in and closed the window. Far from resisting, the cat nestled against her with every sign of pleasure. "She's been somebody's pet," said the old woman, placing her on the floor. "She ain't always been like this." The divine emotion of pity, so new to this forlorn creature, grew and swelled in her bosom. The man at the hall had _not_ lied, after all. Here was another of God's creatures as miserable as herself--nay, more so, for she had a roof to shelter her! And she could share it with this homeless one. "Poor puss!" muttered old Marg, stroking the rough fur. "You're starvin', too, ain't ye? an' I ain't got nothin' to give ye, not a bite or a sup. Ah!" Her eyes had fallen upon the discarded food. Eagerly she seized it and placed it before the cat; the starving creature gnawed greedily at the bone an instant, then looked up with a hopeless mew. The old woman felt a keener pang of pity. "Poor beast!" she said, with a bitter smile. "Ye can't eat 'em, can ye? No more could I! We're in the same box, puss! Old, an' toothless, an' nobody belongin' to us. We'll have to starve together, I guess. An' it's Christmas day! Did ye know that, puss? Christmas day! Lord! Lord!" The cat rubbed against her skirts, her eyes fixed upon her benefactor's. "Seems to understand every word I say!" old Marg muttered. "If only I had a drop o' milk for her now!"