“Gracious, Betty, I should say not! But it’s a shame to throw it away. Just give it to some poor person, can’t you?” “Yes, that’s a good idea; I will. Well, good-by, till I see you.” “Good-by. Hurry up here,” said Dorothy, and Betty hung up the receiver. As she picked up her box to start toward the taxicab rank, the thought occurred to her that it might be well to dispose of the box before she took the cab. Acting on this idea, she stepped out of the ferry-house and looked about her. It was rapidly growing much warmer, and the glare on the hot paving-stones was unpleasant, but Betty determined to bestow the wholesome food on some grateful poor person before she started up-town. “I want to find some one really worthy,” she said to herself; “it would be too bad to waste all these good things on an ungrateful wretch.” She looked at the newsboys who were crying their papers, but it seemed impracticable to expect them to carry a large, heavy box in addition to their burden of papers. She wandered along the street until she saw a poor-looking old woman in a news-booth. The papers and magazines were piled up tidily and the old news-vender herself sat comfortably knitting, now and then looking out over her spectacles for a possible customer. She was certainly thrifty, Betty thought, and would be greatly pleased with a present of good food. “I’d like to give you this,” said Betty, resting the box on a pile of morning papers; “it’s some food—nice bits of cold chicken and eggs.” The old woman glared at her. “Bits of food, is it?” she exclaimed. “Broken bits ye’re offerin’ to me! Well, ye may be takin’ ’em back! Nobody need dole out food to Bridget Molloy! I takes nobody’s charity! I earns me honest livin’! More shame to them as doesn’t!” “Oh, I didn’t mean to offend you,” cried Betty, greatly distressed at having hurt the old woman’s feelings. “It’s a very nice luncheon that I brought for myself and some friends.” But Mrs. Molloy would not listen. “Take it away,” she said; “take yer cold victuals to some one as is too lazy to work for a honest livin’! I asks no charity fer me or mine!” Greatly chagrined and a little angry, Betty picked up her box and walked away. It had been an unfortunate occurrence, but surely it would be easy enough to find some one more reasonable than the old newswoman. Before she had gone a block Betty saw a ragged urchin who was, she decided, a worthy case. He was not selling papers; indeed, he was doing nothing, but leaning against a high board fence, digging his bare toes into the dust. “Poor little thing,” thought Betty; “I’ve no doubt he’s hungry.” Then she said: “Good morning, little boy. Are you one of a large family?” The boy looked suspiciously at Betty, then, in a whining voice, replied: “Ten brudders an’ ten sisters ma’am; an’ me fadder is sick, an’ me mudder is out o’ work.” “Oh, you poor child!” exclaimed Betty, and as he held out a grimy little paw, as if for coin, she offered him the box.