this to herself. The mud was dreadful—she almost had to wade. She picked her way as carefully as she could, but she could not save herself much; only, in picking her way, she had to look down at her feet and the mud, and in looking down—just as she reached the pavement— she saw something shining in the gutter. It was actually a piece of silver—a tiny piece trodden upon by many feet, but still with spirit enough left to shine a little. Not quite a sixpence, but the next thing to it—a fourpenny piece.
In
she was told that she had better take her meals downstairs; she was treated as if she was nobody’s concern, and her heart grew proud and sore, but she never told anyone what she felt.
“Soldiers don’t complain,” she would say between her small, shut teeth, “I am not going to do it; I will pretend this