ntently, that she did not miss the kitten which
had crept down from her arms, and, springing upon the table, began to
devour the remnants of the repast. The organ-grinder was not out of
sight when Gerty saw the old lamplighter coming up the street. She
resolved to watch him light his lamp, when she was startled by a sharp
and angry exclamation from Nan, and turned just in time to see her
snatch her darling kitten from the table. Gerty sprang to the rescue,
jumped into a chair, and caught Nan by the arm; but she firmly pushed
her back, and threw the kitten half across the room. Gerty heard a
sudden splash and a piercing cry. Nan had flung the poor creature into a
large vessel of steaming hot water. The poor animal writhed an instant,
then died in torture.

Gerty's anger was aroused. Without hesitation, she lifted a stick of
wood, and violently flung it at Nan, and it struck the woman on the
head. The blood started from the wound; but Nan hardly felt the blow, so
greatly was she excited against the child. She sprang upon her, caught
her by the shoulder, and opening the house-door, thrust her out. "Ye'll
never darken my doors again, yer imp of wickedness!" said she, leaving
the child alone in the cold night.

When Gerty was angry, she always cried aloud--uttering a succession of
piercing shrieks, until she sometimes quite exhausted her strength. When
she found herself in the street she commenced screaming--not from fear
of being turned away from her only home, and left alone at nightfall to
wander about the city, and perhaps freeze before morning--she did not
think of herself for a moment. Horror and grief at the dreadful fate of
the only thing she loved in the world entirely filled her little soul.
So she crouched down against the side of the house, her face hid in her
hands, unconscious of the noise she was making. Suddenly she found
herself placed on Trueman Flint's ladder, which leaned against the
lamp-post. True held her high enough to bring her face opposite his, and
saw his old acquaintance, and kindly asked her what was the matter.

But Gerty could only gasp and say, "Oh, my kitten! my kitten!"

"What! the kitten I gave you? Well, have you lost it? Don't cry!
there--don't cry!"

"Oh, no! not lost! Oh, poor kitty!" and Gerty cried louder and coughed
so dreadfully, that True was frightened for the child. Making every
effort to soothe her, he told her she would catch her death o' cold, and
she must go into the ho