his well-filled ware-houses, saw a child enter and come towards him
in a timid, hesitating manner.

"A beggar! Drive her away," said Unkindness and Suspicion, both
arousing themselves.

Markland was already lifting his hand to wave her back, when
Compassion, who had just then found an old way into his heart,
hidden for a long time by rank weeds and brambles, said, in soft and
pitying tones:

"She is such a little child!"

"A thieving beggar!" cried Unkindness and Suspicion, angrily.

"A weak little child," pleaded Compassion. "Don't be hard with her.
Speak kindly."

Compassion prevailed. Her voice had awakened into life some old and
long sleeping memories. Markland was himself, for a moment, a child,
full of pity, tenderness and loving-kindness. Compassion had already
uncovered the far away past, and the sweetness of its young blossoms
was reviving old delights.

"Well, little one, what is wanted?"

Markland hardly knew his own voice, it was so gentle and inviting.

How the, pale, pure face of the child warmed and brightened!
Gratefully with trust and hope in her eyes, she looked up to the