returned Biddy.

"Clean!"

"Yes, mim, clane."

"There was no crying necessity to have it clean to-day. Didn't you
see--"

"It's Sathurday, mim," interrupted Biddy, in a voice that showed the
argument in her mind to be unanswerable. "We always wash the
pavement on Sathurday."

"But it doesn't do to wash the pavement," I returned, now trying to
put a little reason into her head, "when it is so cold that water
will freeze as soon as it touches the ground. The bricks become as
slippery as glass, and people can't walk on them without falling."

"Och! And what hev we till do wid the paple. Lot 'em look 'till
their steps."

"But, Biddy, that won't do. People don't expect to find pavements
like glass; and they slip, often, while unaware of danger. Just at
this moment a poor lad fell, and broke his jug all to pieces."

"Did he! And less the pity for him. Why did'nt he walk along like an
orderly, dacent body? Why didn't he look 'till his steps?"

"Biddy," said I, seeing that it was useless to hold an argument with
her,--"Do you go this minute and throw ashes all over the pavement."