adder than
before, while she wore a still more wretched garb than the one Bessie
had been compelled to take from her. Her head was covered, but
scarcely protected, by a large, dilapidated straw bonnet, through the
rents of which peeped rebellious curls of her soft brown hair. A faded
band of ribbon, half detached from the crown, fluttered like a tattered
pennon in the April wind.

On hearing Bessie's exclamation, the child stood as motionless as
though turned to stone. The next moment Mr. Raeburn's hand rested
firmly on her shoulder. She looked up in mute terror, then turned a
pleading glance on Bessie, who answered it by saying kindly, "Don't be
afraid; he is my papa, and he won't hurt you. We have been looking for
you ever so long. We want to do something for you, don't we, papa?"

"Yes, Molly," said Mr. Raeburn, gently, "we want to help you, if we
can. My little girl says you were better than the rest of your family.
Do your father and mother still get their living by robbing little
girls?"

"O, sir, _she_ is dead!" sobbed out Molly. "They sold all thim things,
and bought whiskey with the money, and drank and drank, and one morning
I myself found mother dead and cold. Father behaved a little better
for a while, but he is as bad as ever now, and keeps me and the boys
begging, and when we have bad luck, beats us till we are like to die."

"Poor, poor child!" said Mr. Raeburn, "you must come home with us, and
we will see what we can do for you."

Molly looked surprised, but passively allowed herself to be led to the
carriage and lifted on to the front seat, to the immense astonishment,
not to say horror, of the coachman, a very grand personage, with four
capes to his coat.

When they reached home, Mr. Raeburn took Molly at once to his wife's
room, and those two good people had a long talk with her. They
questioned her kindly but closely about her life, and her story was
such a sad one that tears soon fell from Mrs. Raeburn's eyes, while her
husband turned to the window to hide his.

A little later Molly found herself again stripped of her rags, and clad
(after a warm bath) in some of Bessie's clothes. Molly looked
intensely grateful, but was evidently too thoroughly bewildered to say
much. When she was taken to Mrs. Raeburn's parlor, she gazed about her
curiously,--not in admiration, but with a strange, perplexed look,
which struck Mrs. Raeburn. "What are you thinking of, my child?"

"Why, ma'am,