her.

Away down in an uncomfortable, out-of-the-way part of the city dwell a great many poor people, who have come from distant countries to find here some bread, which may keep them from starving. The streets where they dwell are dirty, and the houses look smoky and wretched. There are queer little shops, with oranges and cigars, bread and tobacco, in the windows, and if you go in you smell yeast, and see milk-cans standing about, while a man in a green jacket sells you what you ask for. To such shops do the people

near by come for their bread and cent's worth of milk. To such a shop little Cybele came, early in the morning, and late at night; and so dingy looked the shops and people, that her aunt's room seemed bright and cheerful in comparison. This room, nevertheless, was small and quite dark, having but one window, which looked down into a brown back-yard; but her aunt kept the room neat and clean; the bed stood off by itself, in one corner, the two chairs on either side of the table, and in the cupboard were a few plates and cups, with which the scanty table was spread; yet was this room dear to the child, since the dreams she had dreamed there hung over her still with their light and love.

It chanced, one day, that her aunt fell sick—so sick as to be obliged to lie on the bed. For a long time she had not been able to do any hard work, but had sat at home and made little brooms for Cybele to take out with her when she went to play the tambourine about the streets. And Cybele had seen how her aunt grew pale, day by day, but she had not dreamed the time would come when her aunt must lay still on the bed for weariness.

With a heavy heart she took the brooms and the tambourine, and went out, hoping to get a few pennies, and bring home a doctor for her aunt.

But it was a sad day for Cybele. She was rudely sent away from the doors at which she stopped, and though she stood long before the windows of lordly houses, in which she felt were many persons, still the sashes were left down, and no kind group appeared to encourage her. So she passed on, through quiet squares and noisy streets, but everywhere met with a repulse.

What should she do? It was impossible to go home without money. She thought of the poor aunt who was sick, and of the mother who lay away in the gardens of Italy, and new courage came into her soul. A gentleman came toward her, with ruddy cheeks and smooth, rich clothes. Surely he will not turn away from the little child. So she stepped forward, and, when he came near, she looked up in his face, saying,

"Please, sir, will you not buy one of my brooms?"

But he brushed by her, unheeding her gentle tones, and leaving her eyes filled with tears.

Then came along a careless boy, whistling a merry tune, and with his hands thrust into his pockets. Confidence and hope made her ask him also.

"Please, will you buy a broom?"

The boy stopped, and, still whistling, looked into her face, glanced over her dress, tambourine and brooms; and, as his eyes rested upon these last, he replied:

"Buy a broom! Pray, what think you I want with one of those flimsy things?" And then he looked at her as though he thought her so absurd!

Cybele was abashed by his manner, and began to think she had asked him to do a very foolish thing, so she hurried to reply:

"I don't know, I'm sure; but they brush away flies with them."

"Flies!" he repeated, contemptuously, at the same time taking one of the brooms from her little bundle, and thrusting it about him in all conceivable ways; pulling open the brush, and altogether ruining it. "Flies! it is getting too cool for flies; and, besides, my mother never lets any get into the house; so it's no use any way. Why don't you go home? It's a shame to be walking round the streets so. You ought to be in school, or at work, or something else."