ll girls who hadn't anything were not like Mary Elizabeth.

* * * * *

So now she was shuffling up Washington Street, not knowing exactly what
to do next,--peeping into people's faces, timidly looking away from
them, heart-sick (for a very little girl can be very heart-sick),
colder, she thought, every minute, and hungrier each hour than she was
the hour before.

The child left Washington Street at last, where everybody had homes and
suppers without one extra one to spare for a little girl, and turned
into a short, bright, showy street, where stood a great hotel.

Whether the door-keeper was away, or busy, or sick, or careless, or
whether the head-waiter at the dining-room was so tall that he couldn't
see so short a beggar, or whether the clerk at the desk was so noisy
that he couldn't hear so still a beggar, or however it was, Mary
Elizabeth did get in; by the door-keeper, past the head-waiter, under
the shadow of the clerk, over the smooth, slippery marble floor the
child crept on.

She came to the office door and stood still. She looked around her with
wide eyes. She had never seen a place like that. Lights flashed over it,
many and bright. Gentlemen sat in it smoking and reading. They were all
warm. Not one of them looked as if he had had no dinner and no
breakfast and no supper.

"How many extry suppers," thought the little girl, "it must ha' taken to
feed 'em all. I guess maybe there'll be one for me in here."

Mary Elizabeth stood in the middle of it, in her pink calico dress and
red plaid shawl. The shawl was tied over her head and about her neck
with a ragged tippet. Her bare feet showed in the old rubbers. She began
to shuffle about the room, holding out one purple little hand.

One or two of the gentlemen laughed; some frowned; more did nothing at
all; most did not notice, or did not seem to notice, the child. One
said: "What's the matter here?"

Mary Elizabeth shuffled on. She went from one to the other, less
timidly; a kind of desperation had taken possession of her. The odours
from the dining-room came in, of strong, hot coffee, and strange roast
meats. Mary Elizabeth thought of Jo.

It seemed to her she was so hungry that, if she could not get a supper,
she should jump up and run and rush about and snatch something and steal
like Jo. She held out her hand, but only said: "I'm hungry!"

A gentleman called her. He was the gentleman who had asked: "What's the
matte