elf. He's so happy! I hope you don't want him just
now?"

"Not the least in the world. I want you to take care of him while I am
away. By-the-by, where's Syd?"

The elder child (the girl) had been christened Sydney, in compliment
to one of her father's female relatives. The name was not liked by her
mother--who had shortened it to Syd, by way of leaving as little of
it as possible. With a look at Mrs. Westerfield which expressed
ill-concealed aversion, the landlady answered: "She's up in the
lumber-room, poor child. She says you sent her there to be out of the
way."

"Ah, to be sure, I did."

"There's no fireplace in the garret, ma'am. I'm afraid the little girl
must be cold and lonely."

It was useless to plead for Syd--Mrs. Westerfield was not listening.
Her attention was absorbed by her own plump and pretty hands. She took
a tiny file from the dressing-table, and put a few finishing touches to
her nails. "Send me some hot water," she said; "I want to dress."

The servant girl who carried the hot water upstairs was new to the ways
of the house. After having waited on Mrs. Westerfield, she had been
instructed by the kind-hearted landlady to go on to the top floor. "You
will find a pretty little girl in the garret, all by herself. Say you
are to bring her down to my room, as soon as her mamma has gone out."

Mrs. Westerfield's habitual neglect of her eldest child was known
to every person in the house. Even the new servant had heard of it.
Interested by what she saw, on opening the garret door, she stopped on
the threshold and looked in.

The lumber in the room consisted of two rotten old trunks, a broken
chair, and a dirty volume of sermons of the old-fashioned quarto size.
The grimy ceiling, slanting downward to a cracked window, was stained
with rain that had found its way through the roof. The faded wall-paper,
loosened by damp, was torn away in some places, and bulged loose in
others. There were holes in the skirting-board; and from one of them
peeped the brightly timid eyes of the child's only living companion
in the garret--a mouse, feeding on crumbs which she had saved from her
breakfast.

Syd looked up when the mouse darted back into its hole, on the opening
of the door. "Lizzie! Lizzie!" she said, gravely, "you ought to have
come in without making a noise. You have frightened away my youngest
child."

The good-natured servant burst out laughing. "Have you got a large
family, miss?" she inquired,