He thought in silence for a moment. “Let me see,” he said. “I’ve got ten cents in my pocket. That ought to lodge you for one night—but where? Oh, I know! Now, Janet, listen to me, and do just what I tell you. I’m going to take you to an old apple-woman near here, and don’t you open your mouth about the dipthery, and don’t say nothin’ ’bout where you lived or that you had any people, nor nothin’, ’cause if you do nobody ’ll let us come near ’em; and I’ll do what I can with the cross old apple-woman. She sort o’ takes to me, an’ she gives me specked apples for runnin’ errands for her.” So they went on until they came to the apple-stand, over which a torch was burning. “Aunt Betsy,” said Roy, “here ’s a poor little girl that can’t be left out on the street to freeze. Won’t you let the kid sleep on your floor for to-night?” “Now, Roy,” said the old woman, “you know you’ve picked up a good-for-nothing vagabone on the street. Why don’t you take her to the ’ciety?” “Lawks, Aunt Betsy, I don’t know nothin’ ’bout ’cieties, an’ fore we could find one she’d be froze stiff, so if you won’t take her in, she’ll have to lie down any place and die. I’ve got ten cents in my pocket, and I’ll give it to you if you’ll keep the kid to-night.” “Oh, you’ve got ten cents, have you? Well, all right, she can sleep on a bit of a mat on my floor. And where might you be goin’?” “Well,” said he, “I’ve got to sell some extrys late to-night, and I’ll scare up a box to turn in somewheres. Say,” he added, “she’s awful hungry. If you’ll give her a bit of grub, I’ll pay you for it to-morrow when I come round, and give you a paper.” “All right, Roy, I’ll do what I kin.” So Janet was settled for the night. It is true she had to sleep on the floor and put up with some scraps to eat. But things go by comparison in this world, and to poor, cold, starving Janet it seemed like living in a palace. Tired and worn out, she slept soundly, forgetting all her sorrows. At last the sun rose in the glory of a new day, making the icicles sparkle in its light, and decking vines, bushes, and trees with a covering of diamonds. Dame Nature in all her glory of sparkling jewels smiled at the ladies of the world, wearing their paltry gems, as they drove to the slums to leave some little dolls, and wooden horses, and tin watches that wouldn’t go, for starving, ragged, weary children. Dame Nature longed to teach them if they would learn of her; for, besides her beauty, she was very wise in all things. But they thought they knew, and turned a deaf ear to all her teachings. II