Opposite to the window, at the door of a poor-looking house, there was sitting a little girl weaving lace. Her bobbins moved as quick as lightning, and she never once looked up from her work. “Is not she very industrious?” said Laura; “and very honest, too?” added she in a minute afterwards; for just then a baker with a basket of rolls on his head passed, and by accident one of the rolls fell close to the little girl. She took it up eagerly, looked at it as if she was very hungry, then put aside her work, and ran after the baker to return it to him. Whilst she was gone, a footman in a livery, laced with silver, who belonged to the coach that stood at the shop door, as he was lounging with one of his companions, chanced to spy the weaving pillow, which she had left upon a stone before the door. To divert himself (for idle people do mischief often to divert themselves) he took up the pillow, and entangled all the bobbins. The little girl came back out of breath to her work; but what was her surprise and sorrow to find it spoiled. She twisted and untwisted, placed and replaced, the bobbins, while the footman stood laughing at her distress. She got up gently, and was retiring into the house, when the silver laced footman stopped her, saying, insolently, “Sit still, child.” “I must go to my mother, sir,” said the child; “besides, you have spoiled all my lace. I can’t stay.” “Can’t you?” said the brutal footman, snatching her weaving-pillow again, “I’ll teach you to complain of me.” And he broke off, one after another, all the bobbins, put them into his pocket, rolled her weaving-pillow down the dirty lane, then jumped up behind his mistress’ coach, and was out of sight in an instant. “Poor girl!” exclaimed Rosamond, no longer able to restrain her indignation at this injustice; “poor little girl!” At this instant her mother said to Rosamond—“Come, now, my dear, if you want this filigree paper, buy it.” “Yes, madam,” said Rosamond; and the idea of what her godmother and her cousin Bell would think of her generosity rushed again upon her imagination. All her feelings of pity were immediately suppressed. Satisfied with bestowing another exclamation upon the “_Poor little girl_!” she went to spend her half-guinea upon her filigree basket. In the meantime, she that was called the “_little miser_” beckoned to the poor girl, and, opening the window, said, pointing to the cushion, “Is it quite spoiled?” “Quite! quite spoiled! and I can’t, nor mother neither, buy another; and I can’t do anything else for my bread.” A few, but very few, tears fell as she said this. “How much would another cost?” said Laura. “Oh, a great—_great_ deal.” “More than that?” said Laura, holding up her half-guinea. “Oh, no.”