serable grey and white mongrel puppy.

"Do you want a dog, boy?" she repeated, as proudly as if she offered a
canine prize.

The puppy was ugly, ill-bred, and dirty, but not an instant did I
hesitate in the response I made.

"Yes, I want a dog," I answered as gravely as she had spoken.

She held out the string and my fist closed tightly over it. "I found him
in the gutter," she explained, "and I gave him a plate of bread and milk
because he is so young. Grandmama wouldn't let me keep him, as I have
three others. I think it was very cruel of grandmama."

"I may keep him," I responded, "I ain't got any grandmama. I'll let him
sleep in my bed."

"You must give him a bath first," she said, "and put him by the fire to
dry. They wouldn't let me bring him into our house, but yours is such a
little one that it will hardly matter."

At this my pride dropped low. "You live in the great big house with the
high wall around the garden," I returned wistfully.

She nodded, drawing back a step or two with a quaint little air of
dignity, and twisting a tassel on her coat in and out of her fingers,
which were encased in white crocheted mittens. The only touch of colour
about her was made by her small red shoes.

"I haven't lived there long, and I remember where we came
from--way--away from here, over yonder across the river." She lifted her
hand and pointed across the brick vault to the distant blue on the
opposite shore of the James. "I liked it over there because it was the
country and we lived by ourselves, mamma and I. She taught me to knit
and I knitted a whole shawl--as big as that--for grandmama. Then papa
came and took us away, but now he has gone and left us again, and I am
glad. I hope he will never come back because he is so very bad and I
don't like him. Mamma likes him, but I don't."

"May I play with you in your garden?" I asked when she had finished;
"I'd like to play with you an' I know ever so many nice ways to play
that I made up out of my head."

She looked at me gravely and, I thought, regretfully.

"You can't because you're common," she answered. "It's a great pity. I
don't really mind it myself," she added gently, seeing my downcast face,
"I'd just every bit as lief play with you as not--a little bit--but
grandmama wouldn't--"

"But I don't want to play with your grandmama," I returned, on the point
of tears.

"Well, you might come sometimes--not very often," she said at last, with
a sympathetic to