her in his rage.

"Well, keep your temper, old man," said Ann. "I'm sorry it goes so hard
with you, but as long as I can stand on my feet, I sha'n't turn anybody
out to freeze, that's certain."

"How much'll you get for them?" said the miserable old man, after a few
moments' silence, indicating by his hand the clean clothes on the line.

"Two dollars," said Ann, "and half of it must go to help make up next
month's rent. I've got a good bit to make up yet, and only a week to do
it in, and I sha'n't have another cent till day after to-morrow."

"Well, I wish you'd manage to buy me a little tea," whined the old man;
"seems as if that would go right to the spot, and warm up my old bones a
bit."

"I'll try," said Ann, revolving in her mind how she could save a few
pennies from her indispensable purchases to get tea and sugar, for
without sugar he would not touch it.

Wearied with his unusual exertion, the old man now dropped off to sleep,
and Ann went softly about, folding and piling the clothes into a big
basket already half full. When they were all packed in, and nicely
covered with a piece of clean muslin, she took an old shawl and hood
from a nail in the corner, put them on, blew out the candle, for it must
not burn one moment unnecessarily, and, taking up her basket, went out
into the cold winter night, softly closing the door behind her.

The house was on an alley, but as soon as she turned the corner she was
in the bright streets, glittering with lamps and gay people. The shop
windows were brilliant with Christmas displays, and thousands of warmly
dressed buyers were lingering before them, laughing and chatting, and
selecting their purchases. Surely it seemed as if there could be no want
here.

As quickly as her burden would let her, the old washerwoman passed
through the crowd into a broad street and rang the basement bell of a
large, showy house.

"Oh, it's the washerwoman!" said a flashy-looking servant who answered
the bell; "set the basket right m here. Mrs. Keithe can't look them over
to-night. There's company in the parlour--Miss Carry's Christmas party."

"Ask her to please pay me--at least a part," said old Ann hastily. "I
don't see how I can do without the money. I counted on it."

"I'll ask her," said the pert young woman, turning to go upstairs; "but
it's no use."

Returning in a moment, she delivered the message. "She has no change
to-night; you're to come in the morning."

"Dear me!" tho