because, the grateful glance touched a chord common to humanity in the heart of the stranger, or because one naturally warms to any creature whom one has befriended, or perhaps simply from the sweet womanliness which finds all childhood attractive,—­whatever the motive, upon the impulse of the moment the lady did a very graceful thing.  Taking a rose from the bunch of jacqueminots she wore, she fastened it to the breast of the child’s black apron, and was gone before the latter could recover from her astonishment.

It was only a little incident, but it changed the whole aspect of Cash’s day.  The beautiful flower glowed against the dark uniform, like a bit of joy vouchsafed to a sombre life.

“How lovely!” exclaimed the salesgirl.  “Aren’t you lucky, Cash!  Don’t you want to exchange with me?  I’ll give you a delicious orange I brought with my lunch for that posie.”

Cash shook her head.  As soon as she could, she stole away to the room where the girls kept their cloaks and hats.  Here, after a furtive look around to see that ho one was by who might snatch, it away, she unpinned the rose and slipped it into a small card-board box, having first carefully wrapped the stem in a piece of well moistened paper.  Then she tucked the box into the pocket of her jacket, and ran downstairs to the store again.

For the next two or three hours it happened that Cash was kept running to and fro almost without intermission; but she did not mind it now.  The kindly word spoken in her behalf by the truly gracious lady, the simple gift of a flower, had given her new spirit.  Her heart, like a little bird, kept singing a cheery song to itself; while, as she journeyed hither and thither, her feet seemed to keep time to its gladness.

“Why, Cash, you’re getting smart!  What has waked you up?” said the salesgirl, when, well on in the afternoon, the child sat down by the counter for a few seconds.  Then, without waiting for a reply, she continued:  “Now, aren’t you sorry you did not exchange with me?  See, you’ve lost your rose!”

“Oh, ’taint losted,” answered the girl.

“You did not give it to any one after I made the first bid?” (The inquiry was in a sharper tone.)

“No:  I’m keeping it for Ellie.”

“Oh, sure enough!  Poor Ellie! how is she?  Cash, you’re a good little thing to remember her so kindly.  Here, I have the orange still; take it to her, too.”

The child’s eyes sparkled with pleasure as the salesgirl put the golden ball into her hand.  “Ellie’ll be awful pleased.  I’ll tell her you sent it, Julia,” she said.

Cash had, of course, another name:  it was Katy Connors.  Katy lived way over on the east side of the city, in a house which was once a handsome dwelling, but had long since been divided into tenements and given up to ruin.  The Connors were known among their neighbors as a respectable, hard-working family.  The father was a day-laborer; the mother went out washing; Joe, a boy of fourteen, was in the district messenger service; after him came Katy, who was employed in McNaughton’s store; and then Ellie, the little invalid.  Two younger children had died in infancy.