k
of potatoes, poured out some milk in a cup, and filled a small paper
with flour. These she handed to Mrs. Gaston without uttering a word.

"To-morrow you shall be paid for these, and something on the old
account," said the recipient, as she took them and hurried from the
shop.

"Why not give up at once, instead of trying to keep soul and body
together by working for the slop-shops?" muttered Mrs. Grubb, as her
customer withdrew. "She'd a great sight better go with her children
to the poor-house than keep them half-starving under people's noses
at this rate, and compelling us who have a little feeling left, to
keep them from dying outright with hunger. It's too bad! There's
that Berlaps, who grinds the poor seamstresses who work for him to
death and makes them one-half of their time beggars at our stores
for something for their children to eat. He is building two houses
in Roxbury at this very moment: and out of what? Out of the money of
which he has robbed these poor women. Fifteen cents for a pair of
trowsers with pockets in them! Ten cents for shirts and drawers! and
every thing at that rate. Is it any wonder that they are starving,
and he growing rich? Curse him, and all like him! I could see them
hung!"

And the woman set her teeth, and clenched her hand, in momentary but
impotent rage.

In the meantime, Mrs. Gaston hurried home with the food she had
obtained. She occupied the upper room of a narrow frame house near
the river, for which she paid a rent of three dollars a month. It
was small and comfortless, but the best her slender means could
provide. Two children were playing on the floor when she entered:
the one about four, and the other a boy who looked as if he might be
nearly ten years of age. On the bed lay Ella, the sick child to whom
the mother had alluded, both to the tailor and the shopkeeper. She
turned wishfully upon her mother her young bright eyes as she
entered, but did not move or utter a word. The children, who had
been amusing themselves upon the floor, sprang to their feet, and,
catching hold of the basket she had brought in with her, ascertained
in a moment its contents.

"Fish and taters! Fish and taters!" cried the youngest, a little
girl, clapping her hands, and dancing about the floor.

"Won't we have some dinner now?" said Henry, the oldest boy, looking
up into his mother's face with eager delight, as he laid his hands
upon her arm.

"Yes, my children, you shall have a good di