"Never mind, mother," said Katy, struggling bravely with her reluctance, as she kissed her mother's cheek, and smiled a good-bye; but when she gained the crowded street, the smile faded away from the little face, her steps were slow, and her eyes downcast; for Katy, child as she was, knew that her grandfather was never glad to see them now, and his strange, cold tone when he spoke to her, always made her shiver; so little Katy threaded her way along, with a troubled, anxious, care-worn look, never glancing in at the shopkeepers' tempting windows, and quite forgetting Johnny Galt's pretty bunch of flowers, till she stood trembling with her hand on the latch of her grandfather's counting-room door. "That _you_!" said her grandfather gruffly, from under his bent brows; "come for money _again_? Do you think your grandfather is made of money? people have to _earn_ it, did you know that? I worked hard to earn mine. Have you done any thing to earn this?" "No, Sir," said Katy, with a culprit look, twisting the corner of her apron, and struggling to keep from crying. "Why don't your mother go to work and earn something?" asked Mr. Ellet. "She cannot get any work to do," replied Katy; "she tries very hard, grandpa." "Well, tell her to _keep on_ trying, and you must grow up quick, and earn something too; money don't grow on trees, or bushes, did you know that? What's the reason your mother didn't come after it herself, hey?" "She is sick," said Katy. "Seems to me she's always sick. Well, there's a dollar," said her grandfather, looking at the bill affectionately, as he parted with it; "if you keep on coming here at this rate, you will get all my money away. Do you think it is right to come and get all my money away, hey? Remember now, you and your mother must earn some, _somehow_, d'ye hear?" "Yes, Sir," said Katy meekly, as she closed the door. There was a great noise and bustle in the street, and Katy was jostled hither and thither by the hurrying foot passengers; but she did not heed it, she was so busy thinking of what her grandfather had said, and wondering if she could not sell matches, or shavings, or sweep the crossings, or earn some pennies somehow, that she need never go to her grandfather again. Just then a little girl her own age, came skipping and smiling along, holding her father's hand. Katy looked at her and thought of _her_ father, and then she began to cry. "What is the matter, my dear?" said a gentleman, lifting a handful of Katy's shining curls from her face; "why do you cry, my dear?" "I want _my_ papa," sobbed Katy. "Where is he, dear? tell me, and I will take you to him, shall I?" "If you please, Sir," said Katy, innocently, "he has gone to heaven." "God help you," said the gentleman, with moistened eyes, "where had you been when I met you?" "Please, Sir--I--I--I had rather not tell," replied Katy, with a crimson blush. "Very odd, this," muttered the gentleman; "what is your name, dear?" "Katy, Sir."