"
Mrs. Leslie was talking with a sympathizing neighbor, who responded,
by saying, that she wished the tavern would burn down, and that, for
her part, she didn't feel any too good to apply fire to the place
herself. Mrs. Leslie sighed, and wiped away the tears with her
checked apron.
"It's hard, indeed, it is," she murmured, "to see a man like Jenks
growing richer and richer every day out of the earnings of poor
working-men, whose families are in want of bread. For every sixpence
that goes over his counter some one is made poorer--to some heart is
given a throb of pain."
"It's a downright shame!" exclaimed the neighbor, immediately. "If I
had my way with the lazy, good-for-nothing fellow, I'd see that he
did something useful, if it was to break stone on the road. Were it
my husband, instead of yours, that he enticed into his bar, depend
on't he'd get himself into trouble."
While this conversation was going on, a little girl, not over ten
years of age, sat listening attentively. After a while she went
quietly from the room, and throwing her apron over head, took her
way, unobserved by her mother, down the road.
Where was little Lizzie going? There was a purpose in her mind: She
had started on a mission.
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