Jest as the Israelites did about the manny, and jest as You did when you told your wife you would bring her home a present, and come home early—­and you bore her home a bracelet, at four o’clock in the mornin’.

And jest as I did when I said, under the influence of a stirring sermon, that I wouldn’t forgit it, and I would live up to it—­wall, I hain’t forgot it.

But tenny rate, the upshot of the matter wuz that the nurse thought she would keep half of the Master’s orders—­she wouldn’t let The Little Maid out of her sight.

So she hired a cab—­she had plenty of money, Elnathan didn’t stent her on wages.  He had his good qualities, Elnathan did.

And she and The Little Maid rolled away, down through the broad, beautiful streets, lined with stately housen and filled with a throng of gay, handsome, elegantly clothed men, wimmen, and children.

Down into narrower business streets, with lofty warehouses on each side, and full of a well-dressed, hurrying crowd of business men—­down, down, down into the dretful street she had sot out to find.

With crazy, slantin’ old housen on either side—­forms of misery filling the narrow, filthy street, wearing the semblance of manhood and womanhood.  And worst of all, embruted, and haggard, and aged childhood.

Filth of all sorts cumbering the broken old walks, and hoverin’ over all a dretful sicknin’ odor, full of disease and death.

Wall, when they got there, The Little Maid (she had a tender heart), she wuz pale as death, and the big tears wuz a-rollin’ down her cheeks, at the horrible sights and sounds she see all about her.

Wall, Jean hurried her up the rickety old staircase into her sister’s room, where Jean and Kate fell into each other’s arms, and forgot the world while they mingled their tears and their laughter, and half crazy words of love and bewildered joy.

The Little Maid sot silently lookin’ out into the dirty, dretful court-yard, swarmin’ with ragged children in every form of dirt and discomfort, squalor and vice.

She had never seen anything of the kind before in her guarded, love-watched life.

She didn’t know that there wuz such things in the world.

Her lips wuz quiverin’—­her big, earnest eyes full of tears, as she started to go down the broken old stairs.

And her heart full of desires to help ’em, so we spoze.

But her tears blinded her.

Half way down she stumbled and fell.

The nurse jumped down to help her.  She wuz hefty—­two hundred wuz her weight; the stairs, jest hangin’ together by links of planked rotteness, fell under ’em—­down, down they went, down into the depths below.

The nurse was stunted—­not hurt, only stunted.

But The Little Maid, they thought she wuz dead, as they lifted her out.  Ivory white wuz the perfect little face, with the long golden hair hangin’ back from it, ivory white the little hand and arm hangin’ limp at her side.