The woman's face grew dark as she read these pitiful words, and, crushing up the letter in her hands, she threw it into the waste-paper basket with a cynical sneer. "Bah!" she muttered contemptuously, "does he think to impose on me with such tricks? Feign a love! Yes, kiss and caress him to gratify his vanity. Did I not give him fair warning of the end? And now he whimpers about mercy--mercy from me to him--pshaw! let him die and go to his pauper grave, I'll not shed a tear!" And she laughed harshly. At this moment Meg, who had been building two edifices of bricks, began to talk to herself. "This," said Meg, putting the top brick on one building, "is the House of Good, but the other is the House of Sin. Mumsey," raising her eyes, "which house would you like to live in?" "In the House of Good, dear," said Kitty in a tremulous voice, touched by the artless question of the child. "Come to mumsey, darling, and tell her what you have been doing." Meg, nothing loath, accepted this invitation, and, climbing up on her mother's knee, threw her arms round Kitty's neck. "I had some bread and milk," she said confidentially; "then I went and saw my Guinea pigs. Dotty--you know, mumsey, the one with the long hair--oh, he squeaked--he did squeak! I think he was hungry." "Have you been a good little girl?" "Good?" echoed Meg doubtfully. "Well, not very good. I was cross with Bliggings. She put soap into my eyes." "It's naughty to be cross, darling," said her mother, smoothing the child's hair. "What makes you naughty?" "Mother," said Meg, nodding her head sagely, "it's the wicked spirit." Kitty laughed, and, kissing the child, drew her closer to her. "Mumsey!" "Yes, darling?" "I should like to give the man who stopped the wheels a present." "What would you like to give him, my precious?" This took some consideration, and Meg puckered up her small face into a frown. "I think," she decided at length, "the man would like a knife." "A knife cuts love, Meg." "Not if you get a penny for it," asserted Meg wisely. "Bliggings told me; let me get a knife for the man, mumsey." "Very well, dear," said Kitty smiling; "the man will then know my little daughter has a kind heart." "Meg is a very good girl," asserted that small personage gravely; and, climbing down off her mother's knee, she began to play with the bricks, while Kitty went on with her correspondence. The next letter evidently did not give Kitty much satisfaction, judging by the frown on her face. She had written to Hiram J. Fenton asking for some money, and he had curtly refused to give her any more. She tore up the letter, threw it into the waste-paper basket, and smiled sardonically. "You won't, won't you?" she muttered angrily. "Very well, my friend, there are plenty of others to give me money if you won't." At this moment there came a ring at the door, and shortly after the servant entered with a card. Kitty took it carelessly, and then started.