"What's your other name?" "I ha'n't got no more names -- my name's Clam." "What's your mother's name?" "She's Sukey Beckinson." "Is she kind to you?" asked Elizabeth. "_I_ don' know!" "Did you have dinner enough?" said Winthrop with a smile. Clam jumped up, and crossing her hands on her breast dropped a brisk little courtsey to her benefactor. She made no other answer, and then sat down again. "Are you afraid to go home with your empty basket when the storm's over?" said he kindly. "No," she said; but it was with a singular expression of cold and careless necessity. "The rest of the basketful wouldn't be worth more than that, would it?" said he giving her a sixpence. Clam took it and clasped it very tight in her fist, for other place of security she had none; and looked at him, but made no more answer than that. "You won't forget where to come the next time you can't get an honest dinner," said he. "The corner of Beaver and Little South Streets. You know where it is? That is where I live. Ask for Mr. Landholm." Clam nodded and said, "I know!" "I hope you'll get some supper to-night," said he. "I will!" said Clam determinately. "How will you?" said Elizabeth. "I'll make mammy give me some," said the girl flourishing her clasped fist. "Wouldn't you like to leave picking things out of the street, and go to live with somebody who would take care of you and teach you to be a good girl?" said Elizabeth. Clam tossed her sixpence up and down in her hand, and finally brought her eyes to bear upon Elizabeth and said, "I don't want nobody to take care of me." "If she could be taught, and would, I'd take care of her afterwards," said Elizabeth to Winthrop. "If _he'd_ say so, I would," said Clam. "Look here," said Winthrop. "Would you like to come into some kind house -- if I can find you one -- and learn to do clean work?" "It don't make no odds," said Clam looking at her basket. "What do you say?" "I guess no one don't want me." "Perhaps not; but if somebody would have you, would you be a good girl?" "I s'pose I'd get dinner reglar," said the little black girl, still fingering the edge of her basket. "Certainly! --and something better than figs." "Be them figs?" said Clam, suddenly looking up at him. "Yes -- the sweet ones." "Goody! -- I didn't know that before." "Well -- you haven't answered me yet." "I don't care much," -- said Clam. "Is it your house?" "Maybe." "I'll come!" said she clapping her hands. "I'll clear out, and mother won't never give it to me no more. -- Nor nobody else sha'n't?" said she looking up at Winthrop. "If you behave yourself." "I'll go now right off!" said Clam, jumping up in great spirits. Then with a changing and doubtful tone she added, looking to Winthrop, "Will you take me?" "Yes," he said smiling, "but not this evening. You must go home now, when the storm is over, for to-night; and I'll come and see your mother about it." "What for?" was the very earnest and prompt answer.