“Gee whiz!” cried the boy; “that ’ud take us all!”

He followed the gentleman back to the ticket-office, and eagerly watched the man behind the little window count out five tickets and put them in a pink envelope.

“One for you, one for your mother, and three for the kids,” said his friend, as Billy buttoned the treasure in the inside pocket of his ragged coat.

He was so excited that he almost forgot his part of the bargain, but as the gentleman was turning away he remembered.

“Say, mister, where must I take the kindlin’ to?”

“Oh, that’s all right; you can sell it to-morrow,” answered the other.

Billy’s face fell instantly.  “If you don’t take the kindlin’, I’ll have to give you back the tickets.  Ma don’t ‘low us to take nothin’ that way.”

“But I don’t need the kindling; haven’t any place to put it.”

“Ain’t you got no home?” asked Billy, incredulously.

“No,” answered the man, shortly.

The idea of any one, in any walk of life, not having use for kindling was a new one to Billy.  But he had no time to dwell on it, for this new complication demanded all his attention.

“Ain’t there nobody you could give it to?” he asked.

The gentleman was growing impatient.  “No, no; go along; that’s all right.”

But Billy knew it would not be all right when he got home, so he made one more effort.  “How’d you like to send it out to Miss Hazy?” he inquired.

“Well, Miss Hazy, not having the pleasure of my acquaintance, might object to the delicate attention.  Who is she?”

“She’s Chris’s aunt; they ain’t had no fire fer two days.”

“Oh!” said the man, heartily, “take it to Miss Hazy, by all means.  Tell her it’s from Mr. Bob, who is worse off than she is, for he hasn’t even a home.”

An hour later there was wild excitement under the only tin roof in the Cabbage Patch.  Such scrubbing and brushing as was taking place!

“It’s jes’ like a peetrified air-castle,” said Mrs. Wiggs, as she pressed out Asia’s best dress; “here I been thinkin’ ‘bout it, an’ wantin’ to go, an’ here I am actually gittin’ ready to go!  Come here, child, and let me iron out yer plaits while the iron’s good an’ hot.”

This painful operation was performed only on state occasions; each little Wiggs laid her head on the ironing-board, a willing sacrifice on the altar of vanity, while Mrs. Wiggs carefully ironed out five plaits on each head.  Europena was the only one who objected to being a burnt-offering, but when she saw the frizzled locks of the others, her pride conquered her fear, and, holding tight to Billy’s hand, she bent her chubby head to the trying ordeal.

“Now, Billy, you run over to Mrs. Eichorn’s an’ ast her to loan me her black crepe veil.  Mrs. Krasmier borrowed it yesterday to wear to her pa’s funeral, but I guess she’s sent it back by this time.  An’, Billy—­Billy, wait a minute; you be sure to tell ’em we are goin’ to the show.”  Mrs. Wiggs vigorously brushed her hair with the clothes-brush as she spoke.  Australia had thrown the hair-brush down the cistern the summer before.