nd she could share it with this
homeless one.

"Poor puss!" muttered old Marg, stroking the rough fur. "You're
starvin', too, ain't ye? an' I ain't got nothin' to give ye, not a bite
or a sup. Ah!"

Her eyes had fallen upon the discarded food. Eagerly she seized it and
placed it before the cat; the starving creature gnawed greedily at the
bone an instant, then looked up with a hopeless mew.

The old woman felt a keener pang of pity.

"Poor beast!" she said, with a bitter smile. "Ye can't eat 'em, can ye?
No more could I! We're in the same box, puss! Old, an' toothless, an'
nobody belongin' to us. We'll have to starve together, I guess. An' it's
Christmas day! Did ye know that, puss? Christmas day! Lord! Lord!"

The cat rubbed against her skirts, her eyes fixed upon her benefactor's.
"Seems to understand every word I say!" old Marg muttered. "If only I
had a drop o' milk for her now!"

Hobbling to the stove, she examined the battered tin can, letting the
moonlight shine into its rusty depths. A little water or tea remained in
it, and with this she moistened some of the bread and placed it before
the cat, which devoured it now eagerly. Then she took the animal in her
arms and laid herself down on the mattress, drawing the ragged covers
over them. The cat nestled against her side; the warmth of the two poor
bodies mingled, and both slept.

The moon-ray crept along and spread itself over the heap of rags, the
knotted fingers resting on the cat's rough fur, the seamed old face; it
passed away, and morning dawned, with a peal of bells and the sound of
footsteps on the pavement below, and still the two slept on.

Angela stood near the door, receiving her Christmas guests. They came
straggling in, in twos and threes, some boldly and impudently, some
shame-faced and shy, some eager, some indifferent, but all
poverty-pinched. Each one was pleasantly welcomed, and passed on to the
feast. Angela watched and waited, and at last the door opened slowly to
admit old Marg, who stopped short on the threshold, with a look at once
stubborn, appealing, suspicious, ashamed. Like a wild animal on the
alert for the faintest sign of repulsion or danger, she stood there, but
Angela only smiled, proffering her white, soft hand, destitute of
jewels, but the hand of a lady.

"A Merry Christmas!" she said brightly.

"I was ugly to ye last night," said old Marg huskily, ignoring the
beautiful hand she dared not touch.

"Never mind!" A