Madge, with several others as unfortunate as herself, lived with an old woman who cared for them only according to the pennies they could bring in to her each night. Whether the pennies were begged or stolen or honestly earned made little difference to her. The children were all waifs and strays whom nobody owned or seemed to care for, and, with the exception of little Madge, none of them had ever known a parent's love. Her father died when she was a baby, and after a few years' struggle with poverty, her dear mother had followed him, leaving her child to the tender mercies of Mrs. McLane. For two years Madge had lived with this woman, roaming the streets by day, and sleeping on a handful of straw at night. She was scolded when she failed to bring in her usual amount of pennies, oftener whipped than scolded, and never spoken kindly to except by some kind-hearted stranger in the street. On this night her little heart had seemed more than ever despondent and weary, for people didn't want her matches, and pushed her aside when she would have offered them. And she was just about ready to cry, when the sound of music fell upon her ear, and drew her toward the house from whence it proceeded. While she sat upon the railing, intent upon the scene before her, a voice at her side startled her. "Is it here ye are, Madge Lay? Bad luck to ye, thin, won't ye be afther catchin' the lickin' from Granny McLane for not sellin' yer matches! Sure ye needn't be invyin' the stoyle of yer betthers as kin dance, for lookat!" and seizing what little remained to her of a skirt, Biddy O'Hara commenced a caper on her toes in such a way as made Madge laugh outright. In an instant Biddy dropped flat on the ground under the fence, while Madge, in a vain attempt to follow her example, caught her dress in the railing, and hung helpless, just as a lady, who had been near the window, looked out to see where the laugh came from. Poor, frightened Madge! She was seen by the lady, who called to her, kindly, "What is the trouble, little girl? can't you get down?" "Whisht! aisy, Madge; don't spake a wurrid for yer life!" was whispered by Biddy from her hiding-place. But Madge's fright vanished at the kindly words and tone, and she answered: "Please, lady, I'm caught in the rail; but I wasn't a-doin' any harm, ma'am. I'll go as soon as I can get loose, please, lady." "Arrah, thin, Madge Lay, if ye bethray me here, I'll have it out wid ye afther--now moind!" came again from the frightened Biddy, who had really nothing to be afraid of, only that her _pocket_ held three stolen handkerchiefs, and her _heart_ a guilty feeling that weighed like lead. Meanwhile the lady had sent a servant out to release Madge from her predicament, and bade him also bring the child to the door. There she gave Madge a plate of ice-cream, and told her to sit down on the step and eat it. "It is late for so young a child to be out alone. How happens it so with you, little girl?" she asked.