While Harry sat by the stove in the ostlers' room, grieving at the intelligence he had received from Rockville, a little girl, so lame that she walked with a crutch, hobbled into the apartment. "Is my father here?" she asked, in tones so sad that Harry could not help knowing she was in distress. "I don't know as I am acquainted with your father," replied Harry. "He is one of the ostlers here." "Oh, Joseph Flint!" "Yes; he has not been home to dinner or supper to-day, and mother is very sick." "I haven't seen him to-day." "O, dear! What will become of us?" sighed the little girl, as she hobbled away. Harry was struck by the sad appearance of the girl, and the desponding words she uttered. Of late, Joe Flint's vile habit of intemperance had grown upon him so rapidly that he did not work at the stable more than one day in three. For two months, Major Phillips had been threatening to discharge him; and nothing but kindly consideration for his family had prevented him from doing so. "Have you seen Joe to-day?" asked Harry of one of the ostlers, who came into the room soon after the departure of the little girl. "No, and don't want to see him," replied Abner, testily; for, in Joe's absence, his work had to be done by the other ostlers, who did not feel very kindly towards him. "His little girl has just been here after him." "Very likely he hasn't been home for a week," added Abner. "I should think his family would be very thankful if they never saw him again. He is a nuisance to himself and everybody else." "Where does he live?" "Just up in Avery Street--in a ten-footer there." "The little girl said her mother was very sick." "I dare say. She is always sick; and I don't much wonder. Joe Flint is enough to make any one sick. He has been drunk about two-thirds of the time for two months." "I don't see how his family get along." "Nor I, either." After Abner had warmed himself, he left the room. Harry was haunted by the sad look and desponding tones of the poor lame girl. It was a bitter cold evening; and what if Joe's family were suffering with the cold and hunger! It was sad to think of such a thing; and Harry was deeply moved. "She hoped I would be a good boy. She is very sick now, and perhaps she will die," said Harry to himself. "What would she do, if she were here now?" He knew very well what she would do, and he determined to do it himself. His heart was so deeply moved by the picture of sorrow and suffering with which his imagination had invested the home of the intemperate ostler that it required no argument to induce him to go. But he must go prepared to do something. However sweet and consoling may be the sympathy of others to those in distress, it will not warm the chilled limbs or feed the hungry mouths; and Harry thanked God then that he had not spent his money foolishly upon gewgaws and gimcracks, or in gratifying a selfish appetite.