Things grew worse and worse with the two girls as the winter advanced. Often they were without fire and without food, except the market refuse Elfie brought home. Susie had tried again and again to get a place such as the grocer's, but no one wanted a girl, it seemed, or at least no one wanted her. It must be that everybody believed her to be a thief, she thought; and Elfie thought so too, and that made her so bitter that she said one day, "I won't try to be honest any longer: everybody says I am a thief, and so I may as well be one; it's better to steal than to starve." "O Elfie, don't say that!" exclaimed Susie. "We haven't starved yet, and we've managed to keep our home too, though we have had to sell some of the things." Elfie looked round at the almost bare room. "It's no good trying any longer, Susie," she said; "there's such a lot of poor girls in London, God has forgot all about us two." "No, he has not; I'm sure he has not," said Susie; "he is 'our Father,' and so he can't forget us." "Well, he don't mean to help us then," said Elfie. "It's all my fault, I know; I was a thief, and that's why he won't have anything to do with me; I'm too bad, I know." "You're not, Elfie. Jesus died to save sinners—real sinners like you and me, Elfie. He saved the thief on the cross, and said he should be with him in paradise; and he will save us—save us from our sins, as well as the punishment of them." But Elfie shook her head. "I can't bear to see you hungry, Susie," she said with a choking sob; "and it's hard to see the potatoes and turnips there in the market, and hear the men say we are a set of little thieves, and sure to help ourselves, and then come away without taking one. You don't know how hard it is." It was true enough. Even Susie did not know the full bitterness Elfie was daily enduring in her efforts to do right; but that the struggle was a hard one she fully understood, and she said, "Only Jesus knows just how hard it is, Elfie; but he won't let it be more than you can bear. He will send us some help soon. I'm sure he will; perhaps you'll be able to earn a lot of money to-day." This hope, however, was doomed to disappointment, as it had been so many times before. Elfie came home with only a few bruised apples and a handful of dried crusts as the reward of her day's toil; and Susie made up her mind to speak to the teacher at the school that very night. She had often thought of doing this, but the fear lest she should say, as so many others had done, "I can't have anything to do with thieves," had made her shrink from telling even her how they were placed. She told Elfie what she meant to do; but all hope had left Elfie now, and she paid little attention to what was said. She divided the apples and crusts between them, and had soon eaten her own share; but Susie's remained almost untouched, and she could not help looking longingly towards them. Susie saw this, and pushed them towards her. "You eat 'em, Elfie—I can't," she said.