and their faces, when I seek to
recall them, are dim and misty--some are altogether lost from memory.

Then friends and relatives would begin to play, for the purpose of
giving me pleasure, the little games of which I was so fond; they played
"Marriage," "My Lady's Toilet," "The Horned Knight," and "The Lovely
Shepherdess." Everybody took part in them, even the old people, and my
grand aunt Bertha, the eldest of all, was irresistibly droll.

The refrain became louder rapidly, for the singer trotted along with
short, quick steps, and very soon she was under our window, where she
kept repeating her song in a shrill, cracked voice.

When they would allow me to do so, it was my greatest pleasure to run to
the door, followed by an indulgent aunt, not so much for the purpose of
buying the cakes, however, for they were coarse and unpalatable, as to
stop the old woman and talk with her.

The poor old peddler would approach with a courtesy, proud of being
called, and standing with one foot upon the threshold she would present
her basket for our inspection. Her neat dress was set off by the white
linen sleeves that she always wore. While she uncovered her basket I
would look longingly, like a caged wild-bird, far down the cold and
deserted streets.

I liked to breathe in great draughts of the icy air, to look hastily
into the black night lying beyond the door, and then to run back into
the warm and comfortable parlor,--meantime, the monotonous refrain grew
fainter and fainter as it died away into the mean streets that lay close
to the ramparts and the harbor. The old woman's route was always the
same, and my thoughts followed her with a singular interest as long as
the song continued.

I felt a great pity for the poor old woman still wandering about in the
cold night, while we were snug and warm at home; but mingled with that
feeling there was another sentiment so confused and vague that I give
it too much importance, even though I touch upon it never so lightly.
It was this: I had a sort of restless curiosity to see those squalid
streets through which the old peddler went so bravely, and to which I
had never been taken. These streets, that I saw from the distance,
were deserted in the day time, but there in the evening, from time
immemorial, sailors made merry; sometimes the sound of their singing was
so loud that we could hear it as we sat in our parlor.

What could be going on there? What was the nature of that fun, the