Mrs. Crump without hair, and the moonlight
making her still more awful-looking, he was quite overwhelmed with fear.

The old woman rose up hastily at the scream, and she saw only little Fe
quite motionless, with a wild, strained look of fright in his eyes. When
she made out in a half-asleep way that it was the child she detested who
had dared to disturb her, wigless and asleep, her wrath boiled up, and
when the same moonbeam showed her the shining silver clasped in the
little hand, it fell hissing and spluttering and burning hot on the poor
child's head, as he knelt speechless and trembling with fright.

She made up her mind in one instant that it must be some money he had
taken for the flowers, and had kept back from her. "You wicked, thievish
boy!" she shrieked. "I'll teach you to thieve, and then pry about arter
people be a-bed; so good as I've been to ye, too. Ye jest leave my door
for good to-night."

And in a fit of passion she rolled out of bed, scolding and shaking poor
Fe the while. She pulled him down the three creaking steps and out into
the cold wet street--and there, with one more cruel push, she left him,
friendless and alone.

With a sob and a gasp he saw her shut the door, but the fright and
shaking had been too much for his weakened frame. He seemed for a few
moments to feel again all the dreadful pain and anguish he remembered
having felt when he was very ill once long ago. His aching, weary little
head seemed too heavy for him to bear, and with a moan of pain he fell
forward, and lay where he fell insensible.

The moon looked down on the child's small form, and sorrowed for the
little heir, and for her own unkindness in throwing the beams of her
light just across old Mrs. Crump in her bed, and she stooped and kissed
the poor boy as he lay on the hard cold stones, and tried in vain to
warm him with her silvery light.

Bad old Mrs. Crump slept late on into the next morning, and this was the
reason that she knew nothing more of what happened to the poor
friendless little heir.

A doctor set out very early next morning to see a poor invalid woman who
lived in the same street as little Fe's cruel guardian.

He was a short, plain little man, but his beaming smile hid the
ugliness, and made the face tell that he was true and kind and good, and
the eyes seemed to think it best to tell their own tale, in case the
smile alone might not be trusted, and they glistened and shone, and told
of every kindly