Were the reminiscences of one, almost as low down in the scale of humanity, running through his mind--one who, after having been herself lifted up, had exerted an influence upon him to his salvation? The tired missionary forgot his fatigue. "Tom," said he, springing up, "I will go and see what is the matter. Who is this Madalina?" "She is an Italian rag-picker's daughter, sir--they live in Cow Bay--I used to lodge with them sometimes. That is, the mother picks rags, and the father goes with the hand-organ and monkey." "Ah, that is where the little tambourine girl came from that we have now in school. There is a quarrel, I suppose, and the little girl has come for me." Tom went down stairs, with a heart as light as his step, "which," said Mr. P., "I followed, I must acknowledge, rather heavily, for I did not quite relish the idea of being wakened out of a comfortable evening nap, to do police duty in Cow Bay, and I fear there might not have been quite as much suavity in my tone and manner towards the rag-picker's daughter, as we ought to use when speaking to those poor children, for I recollect the words were, 'What do you want?' instead of, 'What can I do for you, my child--come tell me, and don't cry any more.'" "I don't want to be a beggar girl. I want to be like my cousin Juliana." "Juliana--Juliana. I don't know her." "It is the little tambourine girl, sir," said Tom. "Oh, I see now. Juliana is your cousin, then. Come here Madalina; let me look at you, and I will talk about it. Did Juliana tell you to come here?" "Yes, sir; she has told me a good many times, but they would not let me. I am afraid to stay there to-night, they are drinking and fighting so bad." "I thought so; and you want me to go and stop them; is that it?" "No, sir. I want to stay here." "Oh, a poor little girl flying for fear from her own parents, because they are drinking and fighting so."