And with these orders, given of course to Meg, she put on her smashed bonnet and took her bundle of matches and went off to her usual haunts. And she did this, notwithstanding that she had received ten pounds the night before. Such with her was the force of habit, or of rapacity. After she had gone Meg made a meal of the fragments she had left, and washed it down with milk, now turned sour, that had been provided for Lenny on the preceding evening. Then she cleared the table, and straightened the bed, and tidied the miserable room as well as she could. All this time little Lenny was watching her gravely, and occasionally turning his eyes with solemn curiosity upon the sleeping men on the floor. When Meg had got through her housework, even to the rolling up of little Lenny’s pallet, she came back to the child and sought to amuse him with the ancient histories entitled “Red Riding Hood,” “Goody Two Shoes,” “Cinderella,” “Jack the Giant Killer,” and so forth. And although of course Lenny had heard these venerable chronicles a hundred times before—as what child has not?—he was ready to listen to them a hundred times more—as what child is not? But at the end of every story he would ask: “Met, why not Doosa tome?” “Doosa will be sure to come, my pretty. Now let me tell you another story.” —“Tome soon?” “Yes, she will come soon. Now let me tell you about Hop-O’-My-Thumb.” Lenny sighed. Did you ever hear a baby sigh? It is the most pathetic sound in nature. Fortunately they don’t often sigh; they generally prefer to scream. Another story was told; and then a song was sung; and so with telling stories and singing songs, Meg tried to comfort and amuse the child. But at last he said again: “_Oh_, Met! _why_ not Doosa tome? I want see Doosa, so bad.” And his little lips began to tremble and his bosom to heave. But he had been taught that it was naughty to cry so he struggled valiantly to keep from doing so. But how could he bear hope deferred any better than his biggers? His courage at last gave way and he burst out sobbing: “I want to see Doosa! I want to see Doosa! I want to see Doosa so bad!” Meg took him up in her arms and began to walk him up and down the room and sing to him; but his heart-breaking sobs arose above her song; and at last in despair she herself burst into tears and dropped down into her chair and hugged him to her heart, sobbing: “Oh, my pretty, pretty boy, what can Meg do to comfort you? It was such a sin to take you from your mother!” What a germ of a perfect gentleman little Lenny was! As soon as he saw that his crying grieved his friend, he stopped short with a gasp or two, and put his arms around her neck, and laid his face to hers, and began to kiss and coax her. “Don’t ky, Met; Lenny so sorry mate Met ky! Don’t ky, Met! Lenny be dood boy—’deed Lenny will. Let Lenny wipe eye.” And he took up the hem of his little frock, and tried to stretch it up to her eyes to dry her tears.