In the same path, at a distance from a group of neatly-dressed and smiling children, was a little girl, whose pale, soiled face, tattered dress, and bare feet, bespoke her the child of poverty and vice. She looked upon the laughing band before her with a wistful countenance, and hiding behind her shawl the small tin pail she carried, lingered by the fence till the children were out of sight, and then, turning into another road, proceeded to perform her usual errand to a grocery called the Yellow Shop. The bright, calm morning had no charm for her. Her little heart felt none of the lightness and gayety the hearts of children feel when nature is beautiful around them. She could not laugh as they laughed; and as the sound of their merry voices seemed still to linger on her ear, she wondered that she could not be as happy as they. And then she thought of the dreariness and poverty of her home, of the cruelty of her father, of the neglect and unkindness of her mother, of the misery of the long, cold winter through which she had just passed, of the hunger which her little brothers and herself often felt; she thought of the neat appearance of the children she had just seen, and then looked upon her own dress, torn and dirty as it was, till the tears filled her eyes, and her heart became sadder than ever. Mary, for that was the name of the girl, possessed a degree of intelligence above what her years seemed to warrant; she knew what made those happy children so different from herself. She well knew that they would spend that day in school, learning something useful, while she would spend it in idleness at home, or in trying to quiet the hungry baby, and please the other children, while her mother was picking cranberries in the meadow. Mary knew she was that very morning to carry home something that would make her mother cross and wholly unmindful of her destitute children. When she had reached the spirit shop, its keeper was not there, but his son, a bright, intelligent boy of thirteen, stood behind the counter, playing with his little sister. Mary asked for the rum with a faltering voice, and as she offered the jug, our young tradesman, looking upon her with mingled contempt and pity, said, “What does your mother drink rum for?” Mary felt ashamed, and looked so sad that the boy was sorry for what he had said. He gave her the liquor, and tied up the scanty allowance of meal; and Mary, with a heavy heart and hasty step, proceeded upon her way.