Meanwhile a long, earnest conversation was going on behind them between their mother and Mr. Kayll. The children did not hear what was said, for it was carried on in undertones, but the chink of coins reached their ears, and Amy’s eyes sparkled. “If we had plenty of money, baby, how happy we could be, couldn’t we? But perhaps we shouldn’t be as fond of each other then as we are now; do you think we should?” “Oh, yes, fonder,” said the tiny invalid, still playing with her sister’s curls that fell forward on the bed-clothes. “I don’t so much wish to be very rich, and to have carriages and all sorts of beautiful things,” Amy went on dreamily, “but, oh dear! I should like always to be able to earn money if I worked hard, and to bring it home to you and mother and Kitty. But there isn’t any work to do. I believe the beggars, and the organ-grinders, and the girls selling flowers get ever so much more than we do. Oh, baby, I think it is funny that some people should have more money than they can possibly spend in all their lives, and we shouldn’t have any.” The sick child’s blue-veined eyelids slowly closed. She could not understand all this, but the low sweet murmuring talk had soothed her to sleep, with her fingers tangled in the long soft hair. Amy dared not move for fear of rousing her, and continued to kneel there in silence with her eyes fixed on the sleeping face. Poor baby! Was it likely that she would ever get strong and healthy, here in this narrow, crowded court, where no fresh air ever seemed to come, and very little sunshine was to be seen? Would she not linger on month after month, perhaps year after year, a weak little cripple, who must be carried or wheeled about always, for want of air and sunlight and good things now, before it was too late? As she wondered in her old, old way, the voices of her mother and Mr. Kayll buzzed on until the buzz became fainter and fainter, as though it were getting further and further away, until it was inaudible in the far distance. Amy’s head had sunk on the bed, and she was fast asleep. CHAPTER V. “STOP THIEF!” Mr. Kayll had heard the whole long, sad story of the struggles of his cousin, Mrs. Coleson, to keep her children and herself from starving. He believed that even now she would not have asked for help, but that the illness of her youngest child and her own failing strength had compelled her to do so much against her will. There was no one else to whom she could go, for her only other relation, Mr. Coleson’s mother, although she was well off, was a very hard and proud old lady, who had long ago refused to have anything more to do with her daughter-in-law. In consequence, though he could ill afford it, Mr. Kayll lent her five pounds that he had intended for the use of his own family. With that sum the widow would be able to get on for a while, and he could only hope that she would never be brought quite so low again.