Stories of Many Lands
"Harry! Harry!" cried the mother of the little boys, "you must not talk so; it is wicked. That poor little dwarf may be of much use in the world, and do a great deal of good, if she has a kind heart; and she looks as though she had."
"I should like to know of what use such a poor wee thing can be," said Harry, shrugging his shoulders.
"God knows," said Mrs. Wilde, "and He did not make her in vain."
The next day was Christmas. The rain was over, and it was clear and cold.
"Hurrah!" cried Harry from the window, "here's our wee bit woman again. Her hair is as fiery as ever. I wonder the rain didn't put it out. She might warm her hands in it, if it weren't for carrying that big basket."
Mrs. Wilde looked out. The dwarf was trudging slowly along, bearing a heavy basket. The good lady was seized with a strong desire to know more about the strange little creature; so she hurried to her room, put on a bonnet and cloak