'Yes, the flower-girl; the girl whom I met for the first time in the company of a boy who deceived me--a boy who told me the most unblushing l---- stories, and who yet had some humanity in him.' 'That is many years ago. The girl must be almost a woman now.' 'She _is_ a woman, God help her!--more woman than her years warrant I should think she is about the same age as Ruth. And it comes upon me again, that fancy, when I speak of Ruth and think of this poor girl.' 'Yes; you have told us there is a singular likeness between them.' 'It is striking--wonderfully striking. But there can be nothing in it; for Ruth, you have said, was the only child of a poor woman who died a fortnight after the little thing was born.' 'Yes, my friend.' 'So that it is pure accident; but the fancy remains, for all that I shall never forget the sad story that this poor Blade-o'-Grass told me of the tiger that worried her, and clamoured for food. It was hunger, my dear friends, hunger. I shall never forget her notion that Hallelujah came to her while she was asleep, and put baked potatoes in her lap. I shall never forget my pleasure when I first saw her with a basket of flowers, and bought a flower of her. But I have told you of these things before, and here I am babbling of them again, like an old man that has lost his wits.' 'Never mind, friend; go on.' 'I saw poor Blade-o'-Grass this morning. I haven't seen her for many months. I had occasion to pass by a certain prison early, and I saw her, with a dozen others, waiting outside. She was waiting for this boy that was--this man and thief that is. I lingered until the prison doors were opened, and let him and others out. And when he came'--there were tears in the old man's voice as he spoke--'and when he came, this unhappy girl kissed him and clung to him as with less shame she might have kissed and clung to a better man, had she been taught something good when she was younger.' 'My dear, dear friend!' says Mrs. Silver, taking his hand in hers. 'I cannot tell you what I feared as I saw her, and spoke to her before the prison doors were opened. Poor Blade-o'-Grass! poor child! Nay, let me have my way.'