ning and Merry Christmas," they shouted. "We just had
Bellevue on the 'phone, and Hansche is all right. She will be out
to-day. The gas poisoned her, that was all. For that the police will
settle with the landlord, or we will. You go back there and get your
money back, and go and hire a flat. This is Christmas, and don't you
forget it!"

And they pushed the pedler and little Abe, made fast upon a gorgeous
sled that suddenly appeared from somewhere, out into the street, and
gave them a rousing cheer as they turned the corner going east, Adam
dragging the sled and little Abe seated on his throne, perfectly and
radiantly happy.

A STORY OF BLEECKER STREET

Mrs. Kane had put the baby to bed. The regular breathing from two
little cribs in different corners told her that her day's work was
nearing its end. She paused at the window in the middle of her
picking-up to look out at the autumn evening. The house stood on the
bank of the East River near where the Harlem joins it. Below ran the
swift stream, with the early twilight stealing over it from the near
shore; across the water the myriad windows in the Children's Hospital
glowed red in the sunset. From the shipyard, where men were working
overtime, came up the sound of hammering and careless laughter.

The peacefulness of the scene rested the tired woman. She stood
absorbed, without noticing that the door behind her was opened swiftly
and that some one came in. It was only when the baby, wakening, sat up
in bed and asked with wide, wondering eyes, "Who is that?" that she
turned to see.

Just inside the door stood a strange woman. A glance at her dress
showed her to be an escaped prisoner. A number of such from the Island
were employed under guard in the adjoining hospital, and Mrs. Kane saw
them daily. Her first impulse was to call to the men working below,
but something in the stranger's look and attitude checked her. She
went over to the child's bed and stood by it.

"How did you get out?" she asked, confronting the woman. The question
rose to her lips mechanically.

The woman answered with a toss of her head toward the hospital. She
was young yet, but her face was old. Debauchery had left deep scars
upon it. Her black hair hung in disorder.

"They'll be after me," she said hurriedly. Her voice was hoarse; it
kept the promise of the face. "Don't let them. Hide me there--anywhere."
She glanced uneasily from the open closet to the door of the inner
room.