I know it, and that is his fortune. With it he supports himself and family of great idle girls and boys, better than many others live who labor. He is a stout, rugged, hearty man, capable of doing much useful labor, if he had any one to direct him. "Well, here, what of this?" Yes, you may give there; no, give me the quarter, see what I will do with it. I will buy two smiles. "Good evening, Joseph, how do you do this evening?" "Oh, very well, sir, thank you. How are you this evening?" "Very well. How is trade with you, Joseph? Do these gay people buy your bouquets?" "Well, some do, sir, but these big boys and stout men can run about and forestall a poor black man who has got no legs." "Joseph, has that sewing woman been down this evening; the one who always stops to give you a kind word and look, and smell of your flowers?" "What, the one that looks so pale, the one who makes shirt collars; the one you gave the bouquet to, sir?" "Yes; and I want you to give her another, here is the money." "I wish I had known it a few minutes ago, for her daughter went by; she stopped a moment just to admire this one, and said, how she did wish she could afford to buy it for her mother; and then she said, it did not matter, she had such good news to tell her, and she picked up her basket, and away she ran." There was a queer idea came into my mind, when he said basket, just as though there could be but one girl out to-night with a basket. I was about to drive away the idea as a foolish one, when something whispered me, "Ask him." So I did. "A girl with a basket? Who is that girl with a basket; do you know her name?" "Oh, yes. We call her, the little pedler. She is a nice girl. Her mother's name is May." The queer idea was a true one after all. And so this woman, whom I had often seen speaking pleasant words to this poor legless Negro man, who sits night after night, upon the Broadway side-walk, selling bouquets, is Mrs. May, the little pedler's mother. "Do you know where she lives?--could you get anybody to carry this to her to-night?" "Yes, sir, here is Tom Top, he will go in a minute; he will do anything for me, or for a lady; he is ragged and dirty, but he is a good boy; it is a pity he had not somebody to be good to him. Tom, will you go to Mrs. May's for me? Stella, the little pedler's mother, you know where she lives?" "Yes, sir, shall I carry that? Is that for Stella?" "No, that is for her mother." "And this," said Mr. Lovetree, picking up another beauty, "this is for Stella. Stop, Tom. Here is a shilling for you. Don't tell who sent you. Now let us go on. You know this poor black fellow, then, do you? What is his name!"