Ben Bolt,'" she complained. "Isn't it most
time to go home?" It was noon now. At the sound of the factory
whistles all our followers had deserted us, and gone home to dinner.
Phil sat down on the curbstone beside Elsie, and emptying the pennies
out of the little cup she had been carrying, gravely counted them.
"There's only eleven," he announced. "Of course we can't go home yet."

The music-box droned out the last notes of "You'll Remember Me," gave
a click, paused an instant as if to take breath, and then started
mournfully on its last number, "Be it ever so humble, there's no place
like home." At the first sound of the familiar notes, Elsie laid her
head down on her knees and began to weep dismally. "I wish I was back
in my home, sweet home," she cried. "I'm _so_ tired and cold and
hungry. I'm nearly starved. Oh, brother, I wisht I hadn't runned away!
I don't _like_ to be a beggar," she wailed.

Phil began patting her on the back. "Don't cry, sister," he begged.
"We'll go back to that bake-shop we passed a little while ago, and get
something to eat. Don't you remember how good it smelled? Come on!
You'll feel better when you've had a lunch. I'll spend every penny
we've got, if you'll only stop crying. We can make some more this
afternoon."

Elsie wiped her eyes on her shawl, let him help her to her feet, and
obediently trotted after him as we went down the narrow back street,
through which we had passed a few moments before. It was not far to
the bakery. The opening of the door made a bell ring somewhere in the
rear of the shop, and a fat, motherly old German woman came waddling
to the front. Phil bought a bag of buns and another of little cakes,
and was turning to go out again when Elsie climbed up on a chair near
the stove, refusing to move. A cold wind had begun to blow outdoors,
and her hands and wrists showed red below her short sleeves.

"I'm tired," she said, with an appealing glance of her big blue eyes
at the old woman. "Mayn't we stay here and rest while we eat the
cakes?"

"Ach, yes, mein liebchen!" cried the motherly old soul, taking
Elsie's cold little hands in hers. "Come back mit me, where is one
leedle chair like yourself."

She led the way into a tiny sitting-room at the rear of the shop,
where a canary in a cage and geraniums blooming in the window made it
seem like summer. Hot, spicy smells of good things baking, floated in
from ovens somewhere out of sight.

As Elsie sank down into the li