"Not a stitch," was the reply, and the
door closed. She stood a moment looking down upon the passers-by
wondering what answer she would get if she accosted any one; and had
any especially benevolent face looked back at her she would have
been tempted to do it, so heart-sick and forlorn did she feel just
then.
She knocked at several other doors, to receive the same reply. She
even tried a slop-shop, but it was full, and her pale face was
against her. Her long illness had lost her many patrons, and if one
steps out from the ranks of needle-women, it is very hard to press
in again, so crowded are they, and so desperate the need of money.
One hope remained, and, though the way was long, and a foggy drizzle
had set in, she minded neither distance nor the chilly rain, but
hurried away with anxious thoughts still dogging her steps. Across a
long bridge, through muddy roads and up a stately avenue she went,
pausing, at last, spent and breathless at another door.
A servant with a wedding-favor in his button-hole opened to her,
and, while he went to deliver her urgent message, she peered in
wistfully from the dreary world without, catching glimpses of
home-love and happiness that made her heart ache for very pity of
its own loneliness.
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