Wood’s Alley was one of those wretched neighborhoods, which in cities have a way of setting themselves down near rich people’s doors.  It was the short cut to Main street, and when the people near Aunt Maria’s were in haste, they often took it, rather than go a long way round.  The windows in Wood’s Alley were broken and dingy, and the interiors—­which means all you could see as you passed by, looking at open doors—­were dirty, smoky, and uninviting.  Children fairly swarmed there, black and white, and as ragged as they could be.  Mabel had made Aunt Maria very angry one day, by taking off her best hat, and giving it to a little beggar girl from Wood’s Alley, who had been lingering near the gate, and casting admiring looks at it.

“She ought to have known better than to take it from you,” Aunt Maria said.  “She is nothing but a little thief, and you are a very improvident child.  To-morrow I’ll take you to church in your old hat.”

This did not trouble Mabel much.  Mabel did not yet care enough for her clothes, and more than once she had given her things away before.  Her mother had been trying to teach her discretion in giving, for some time.

“Well, Rose,” said Aunt Maria, “if I thought they would do that, I would tell them to have a picnic out-doors, for I don’t want Wood’s Alley in my dining-room.  Those children are just as like their mother as they can be.”

“Auntie,” said Johnnie, “there’s a splendid boy named Jim Cutts.  He’s been fishing with Charlie and me.  Can he come to the party?”

“Jim Cutts!” echoed Mrs. MacLain with a sigh.  Then she answered,

“Yes, dear, have whom you please; but let your table be out under the trees, on the lawn.”

“That’ll be splendid!” said Johnnie, running off.

They had ten or twelve little children at their party, and Dinah brought them sandwiches, cakes, and milk, and they had all the cherries they could eat.  Edith taught them one of her Sunday-school hymns, and Johnnie made Luce perform all his most cunning tricks for their entertainment.  Mabel lent her new doll to the poorest girl, to take home for the night, on the promise that it should surely come home next morning.

The promise was kept.

When the company had gone, Aunt Maria called them in, and made them take a thorough bath, and put on clean clothes all the way through.  Then she bade each sit down, in the room with her, and read a chapter in the Bible.  As Mabel could not read, she gave her a picture Bible to look at.  She sat by, with so grave a face, and had so little to say, that they all began to feel uncomfortable, and wished themselves somewhere else.  Edith’s face was covered with blushes, Mabel began to swallow a lump in her throat, and Johnnie at last, growing angry, determined to stand it no longer.  He shut up his Bible, and marched to Aunt Maria, who looked at him through her spectacles, and said: 

“Well, sir?  Who told you to shut up your book?”