Victoria is now a woman, and she lives, as does Nannette, in the city of Philadelphia. She has a little girl of her own, "mos' six" who is named Nannette for the good little "sister-mother," who once upon a time bought her mamma of a strange woman for a quarter of a dollar, as she thought. And this other little Nannette never tires of hearing the romantic story of the indolent "Didy" and the "real little live baby that will _cry_." BROTHERS FOR SALE. Molly was six years old; a plump, roly-poly little girl with long, crimpy golden hair and great blue eyes. She had ever so many brothers; Fred, a year older than herself, and who went to the Kindergarten with her, was her favorite. Molly was very fond of swinging on the front-yard gate; a forbidden pleasure, by the way. This is the preface to my story about Molly. One windy, sunny day the little girl was "riding to Boston" on the front gate; she had swung out and let the wind blow her back again a half dozen times, and she was happy as a captain on the high seas, enjoying the swaying, dizzy motion. Every little girl--and many a boy--has swung on a gate, standing tip-toe on the lower bar, leaning the chin on the upper bar; and as the gate swayed outward, watched the brick pavement rush under foot like a swift stream, all the time dreaming she was a steamboat. [Illustration] In some such position, with some such thoughts. I suppose, was our Molly when a strange cry reached her ears. "Brothers for sale? Brothers for sale? Got any brothers for sale?" "Dot a plenty," said Molly as the gate swung plump against the oddest great man. He was very tall, wore a huge fur cap, and great coat that reached from his chin to his ankles. The pockets were evidently so full that they bulged out on all sides, and his red belt was stuck full of every odd toy imaginable. He had besides, an enormous pack on his back. Molly's eyes, always wholly devoted to the business of seeing, observed all this. But she only remarked, "What makes your face so _rusty_?" Perhaps he didn't hear her; anyway he repeated his cry, "Brothers for sale? Got any brothers for sale?" and was moving on when Molly's piping voice screamed after him, "Tell yer _yes_; dot a plenty!" This time he stood still. "Dot one, two, free--many's _ten_ I fink. Tommy, he's naughty, calls my rag dolly a meal-bag--I'll sell him. He's a drefful wicked boy; he snaps beans at the teacher and gets a whipping every single day." "I'll take him," said the big man. "How much shall I pay you--what shall I give you for him?" "A han'kercher with some _perfoomery_ on it." "Yes, yes, here you have it," he said, and taking a great bottle from his belt, and a little blue-bordered handkerchief from one pocket, he sprinkled it profusely with some real cologne and gave it to the delighted child. "Any more brothers for sale, little girl? I'm in want of some boys?"