We were in pursuit of Laura’s dressmaker, and had just rung the bell
at her door, when a little boy presented himself, and, standing on the
lower step, uplifted a pathetic pair of blue eyes, and a small tin
cup held in a little grimy hand. A large basket was on one arm; and
round his neck was one of those great printed placards, such as the
blind men wear who sit at the street corners. Laura’s purse was always
fuller than mine; and she was extracting a bit of scrip from it, while
I bent my near-sighted eyes on the boy’s label. Could it be that I read
aright? I looked again. No, I was not mistaken. It read, in great,
staring letters--