True to his character and his system, the Mayor paused in his walk,
and, bending over the child, said coldly, but still with some
appearance of feeling--

"She seems to be getting better--probably it will be nothing serious!"

Chester looked up, and a smile illuminated his face. Always willing
to look on the bright side of human nature, his generous heart smote
him for having perhaps judged too harshly. The little hand which he
was chafing began to warm with life; this relieved him of the terrible
excitement which the moment before had rendered his words, if just,
more than imprudent.

"Thank you, sir, she _is_ better," he said, with an expression of
frank gratitude beaming over every feature, "I think she will live
now, so we will only trouble you a few minutes longer."

"My family are in bed--and these street beggars are so little to be
relied upon," observed the Mayor, evidently wishing to offer some
excuse for his former harshness, without doing so directly; "but this
seems a case of real distress."

Chester was subdued by this speech. More and more he regretted the
excitement of his former language. He longed to make some reparation
to a man who, after all, might be only prudent, not unfeeling.

"If," said he, looking at the child, whose features began to quiver
in the glowing fire-light, "if I had a drop of wine now."

"Oh, we are temperance people here, you know," replied the Mayor,