The cries of the porters and
hackmen--the bustle and dire confusion, struck a chill to her heart. The
crowd hurried hither and thither, each one intent on his own business,
and the lamps gave out a dismal light, dimmed as they were by the hanging
clouds of mist and fog. Alone in a great city! For the first time in her
life she felt the significance of the words she had so often heard. She
had never traveled a half dozen miles before, by herself, and she felt
almost as helpless as a little child.
"Carriage, ma'am?" said a hackman, touching her arm.
"Yes," she said, mechanically, and put her hand in her pocket for her
_porte-monnaie_, with a vague idea that she must pay him before she
started.
She uttered a low cry of dismay! Her pocket-book was missing! She
searched more thoroughly, but it was not to be found. Her pocket had been
picked. She turned a piteous face to the hackman.
"My money is lost, sir!" she said, "but if you will take me to a place of
shelter, I will remunerate you some way."
"Sorry to be obliged to refuse, ma'am," said the man, civilly enough,
"but I'm a poor man, with a family, and can't afford to keep my horses
for nothing."
"What is it, driver?" queried a rough voice; but in a moment a crowd had
gathered around poor, shrinking Margie, and growling, indignant Leo.
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