ssed to
those less fortunate than herself, and it soon became a familiar sight
to see her fly excitedly into the house straight to the study where the
busy President spent many hours each day, exclaiming breathlessly as she
ran, "Oh, grandpa, there is a little beggar at the door in perfect rags
and tatters! Just come and look if she doesn't need some clothes. And
she is so cold and pinched up with being empty. Gussie has fed her, but
can't I give her some things to wear? I've more than I need, truly!"

Then the good man with a patient sigh would leave his work to
investigate the case, spending many minutes of his precious time in
satisfying himself as to whether or not Peace's newly found beggar was
genuine and really in need of relief,--for this small maid's thirst for
discovering vagabonds seemed insatiable, and the string of tramps which
haunted the President's doorstep led poor Gussie a strenuous life for a
time. But relief came from an unexpected source at length.

Late one dull spring afternoon, as Gail sat with her chum, Frances
Sherrar, in the cosy window-seat of the reception-hall, studying the
next day's Latin lesson, a shadow fell across the page. Looking up in
surprise, for neither girl had heard the sound of approaching footsteps,
they beheld on the piazza the bent, shriveled, ragged form of what
appeared to be a tiny, deformed, old woman. An ancient, faded shawl,
patched and darned until it had almost lost its identity, enveloped her
from head to foot, and she looked more like an Indian squaw than like a
civilized white being. Her head and hands shook ceaselessly as with the
palsy, and the way she tottered about made one fearful every minute last
she fall.

"Oh," cried Gail in quick sympathy, "what a feeble old creature! It is a
shame she has to beg her living. Where is my purse?"

"Are you going to give her money?" asked Frances in surprise.

"Doesn't she look as if she needed it?"

"She is a fake. I've seen her ever since I can remember--always just
like this. She wouldn't dare beg in town, but we are so far out--well,
if you are really determined to do it, here's a quarter."

Gail took the proffered coin, added a shining dollar to it, and
stepping to the door where the palsied beggar stood mumbling and whining
a pitiful hard luck tale, she pressed the silver into the leathery,
claw-like hand, smiled a sympathetic smile and bade the old woman a
God-speed.

Frances stayed for dinner that evening,