A girl, a woman, young or old you can hardly tell which; with a face scarcely human, so bleared are the eyes, so sodden, besotted and maudlin the entire countenance; clad in foul rags and smeared with dirt, she reels as she advances, and clings to the supporting arm of a black-robed Sister of Mercy, who towers above her tall and slender, and who looks upon them all with sweet, brave eyes, and speaks with sorrowful dignity: "My duty called me into your street, madam, and I found this poor creature surrounded by boisterous children, and striving to free herself from them. They tell me that this is her home; is she your daughter?" A look of anger gleams in Mamma's eyes, but she suppresses her wrath and answers: "No; she's not our daughter, but she's a fine trouble to us, just the same. Nance, let go the lady, and git out of the way." With a whine of fear, the girl drops the arm of the Sister, and turns away. But her new-found friend restrains her, and with a hand resting upon her arm, again addresses Mamma: "They tell me that this girl's mind has been destroyed by liquor, and that still you permit her to drink. This cannot be overlooked. She is not your child, you say; may I not take her to our hospital?" These are charitable words, but they bring Papa Francoise suddenly to his feet, and cause Mamma's true nature to assert itself. Springing forward with a cry of rage, she seizes the arm of the girl, Nance, drags her from the Sister's side, and pushes her toward the nearest pallet with such violence that the reeling girl falls to the floor, where she lies trembling with fear and whimpering piteously. "This comes of letting you wander around, eh?" hisses Mamma, with a fierce glance at the prostrate girl. Then turning to the Sister of Mercy, she cries: "That gal is _my_ charge, and I'm able to take care of her. Your hospital prayers wouldn't do her any good." As she speaks, Papa moves stealthily forward and touches her elbow. "Hold your tongue, you old fool," he whispers sharply. Then to the Sister he says, with fawning obsequiousness: "You see, lady, the poor girl is my wife's niece, and she was born with a drunkard's appetite. We have to give her drink, but we couldn't hear of sending the poor child to a hospital; oh, no!" Since the entrance of the Sister and Nance, Franz has apparently been engaged in steadying both his legs and his intellect. He now comes forward with a lurch, and inquires with tipsy gravity: "Wot's the row? Anythin' as I kin help out?" "Only a little word about our Nance, my boy," replies Mamma, who has mastered, outwardly, her fit of rage. "The charitable lady wants our Nance." "The lady is very kind," chimes in Papa; "but we can't spare Nance, poor girl." "Can't we?" queries Franz, aggressively, turning to look at the prostrate girl. "Now, why can't we spare her? I kin spare her; who's she, anyhow? Here you, Nance, git up." "Now, Franzy,"--begins Mamma. "S'h-h, my boy,"--whispers Papa, appealingly.