He opened his eyes, to see Becky standing in the center of the cleared space before the cart.

"Look out, Becky! He's Goy. He will put a witch on you," warned Izzy, grandson of Moses, the most learned rabbi of Orchard Street, as Becky moved calmly forward to the very edge of the cart.

"A leetle Virgin, bimba mia, the finest Virgin of white, and only twentyfive cents. It is to give away the Blessed Mother, but macchè "

"It's the princess." Becky spoke quietly, and smiled at Giuseppe. Guiseppe nodded.

"Poverina, poverina, I can na make. She no like now that I sell so cheapthe leetle Queen of Heaven for twentyfive cents!"

Becky swallowed the lump rising in her throat.

"I want a little queen fur Ikey." Giuseppe beat his breast in sympathy for Ikey, but over on Forsythe Street seven fatherless children waited for their grandfather to provide a Christmas such as other children would have.

"I can no make, bimba. With all heart broke fur de Ikey, I can na do." Led now by Izzy, the crowd ven

"Grab one an' beat it, Becky; he

The children fell back, but Becky and Giuseppe smiled at each other. "What 's her name?" Becky asked softly.

Jacob, son of Rachael, the fish-seller; but Becky did not hear.

"I never had nothin' pretty like her," Becky confided through the rising tears, her finger lingering on the smooth

"How much-is she?"

"Seguro, she is pretty-almost pretty

to give away."

The smile died in Becky's eyes. "I've only got-six cents-to gitsugar for supper."

"Olà, bimba mia, it is not possible. Already it makes a sin to give away the Holy Mother for twenty-five cents, but to-morrow is the birthday of the Santo Bimbo, and I must give a fine candle to the altar and dinner for the

little ones."

Eelizabet' Strit. Dio mio, wat a pretty, dat one!"

"Prettier than her?"

"Si, bimba, a leetle. I no can make de lie. Dis one she is pretty, but dat one! one! Ten feet high, hair all gold, in a dress of fine silk, and de eyes blueblue like de sea in my countree, and so sweet she smile, like de sun on de olive-tree in de house where I borned. Every night when I go home I stop

"But Ikey can't walk like other kids, and he ain't got nothin' to do when I got ter go to school. If he had her, he could talk to her, 'cause I told him all about her."

“Sure, bimba, she smile. By de toe of San Cristoforo in my church at San Martin, she smile, an' she make so wid de het, like to say, Si, si, Giusepp';

an' I talk jes like to talk to de Madre. I say, 'Madre de Dio, give to Giusepp' dis or dat,' an' she give. Some time, right away queek, some time not so queek. But always she give."

"Is she alive?" Becky's eyes were lighting now with the look that summoned the princess. "Can she hear and talk?”

Old Giuseppe leaned across the cart. His eyes, too, were eager and bright with faith.

"Sure, she hear. When de beeg church is all still and only a leetle light, like jes before de stars come or like now before to snow hard, and dere ain't nobody but old Giusepp' in her house, den she makka de sweet talk to me. She say-"

"Kin-I-go and see her?"

"Seguro. What for no? De beeg church on Eelizabeth' Strit wid de windows much colors an' de cross on top." "But I'm a Jew,"--Becky's voice quivered;-"mebbe she don't like

Jews."

"Sure she lika Jews. She lika every body, all mens and ladies an' childs. You go. You tella dat old Giusepp' send you."

For a moment Becky stood staring beyond the old man at the princess. Ten feet high, with hair of gold and a dress of silk. Without a word she turned away, passed among the children, awed to silence, and then began to walk quickly.

Frightened and curious, they followed. Out from the familiar streets, across the great dividing-line of the Bowery, into the land of the Guineas, most dangerous of all Goys, for they can buy as cheaply and sell as high as the chosen themselves, and they were always pushing and working their way in everywhere. Huddled, silent, they

followed up one street, down another, until Becky stopped before the house of the princess. Cold, gray, and hostile it loomed above her. And Becky's uncle was the holiest man in Moscow.

Slowly Becky's right foot rose until it rested upon the first step. More slowly the left followed.

"Becky, don' you do it. Dey'll kill you an' drink your blood."

Little Jenny Markowitz made the last effort, but Becky turned upon her.

"She won't let 'em." Nevertheless, her voice shook, for it was really a terrible risk. Once closed from her own world behind those great doors, there was only the princess to save her, ten feet high, it was true, but, after all, only a woman.

trembled, and for an instant her head drooped. She was so far from Becky's social experience. Suddenly, a fear gripped her.

"You speak English, Missis, don't you? The old man said you talked to him every night. You know-your friend, old Giusepp'."

Not a sound broke the enveloping stillness. Becky's throat tightened.

"Mebbe he was lyin', after all, but he said he talked to you, and you gave him everything he wanted. I would n't-ask-fur a lot of things." Becky hesitated, eliminating one by one all the beautiful things she had planned to ask for. "I would n't ask fur nothin' but new legs fur Ikey."

So tensely did Becky wait an answer that she did not hear a side door open

quietly, or Marian Armsby enter, drop her nurse's bag and, with a sigh of relief, slip into a near-by pew for a moment's rest in the crowded, exhausting day. Nor did Marian see Becky until, with a muffled sob, Becky rose and stood small and disappointed before the Virgin.

"Excuse me, Missis, but I guess you don't like Yids, after all." "Oh, yes, she does."

It was so unexpected that Becky jumped back in fear, and only Marian's reassuring arm about her shoulders at last stopped the trembling.

"Suppose we sit down awhile, and you tell me all about it," Marian suggested. Becky did. She told of Ikey and the two ugly rooms, the never-ending coats, and the mother

who worked all day in the factory, and "finished" long after Becky herself was asleep.

"And you were asking the Virgin to cure Ikey's legs?" "Yes, 'm. But I guess she don't help Jew kids."

"I'm sure she does. She heard you, even if she did n't talk to you. She often gets me to attend to these jobs for her, and perhaps, if I go home with you and see just exactly how sick Ikey's legs are"

"Kin you talk to her? Kin you get her to make Ikey's legs well?"

"I don't know, Becky. I can't tell until I see, but I should n't wonder a bit but what we can do something."

So silently they went down the long aisle and out to the terrified children, waiting to hear the shrieks of Becky being eaten alive by Gentile

priests. Straight through them, without seeing, Becky walked, holding fast to Marian Armsby's hand. Nor did she utter a word until in triumph she delivered Marian to Ikey.

"O Ikey, I brought her, an' she 's goin' to fix your legs an' git mama another job, an' mebbe we 'll all go to the country in the spring an'"Not so fast, Becky, please. have a look at those legs first. should n't wonder in the least are n't simply lazy."

We'll But I if they

As she removed her things, Marian Armsby tried hard not to see the terrible eagerness in Ikey's eyes, the fear of possible disappointment on Becky's face, the deadening ugliness of the rooms. So that, when she turned again, it was in her usual, quick, quiet way that she directed:

"If you'll turn down the bed, Becky, we 'll be able to get at things better. But, first, perhaps we'd better take off all these clothes, so we can see just where we are." And before Ikey's masculine pride could protest, his many garments were deftly removed, and he was lying in his worn little nightgown, while Marian's cool, firm hands were padding and prodding lightly along his spine and down his legs and doing strange, sudden things to his knees and toes.

Beside the bed, Becky stood rigid in suspense. But as Marian straightened, and drew up the coverlet, Becky touched her hand.

"Kin you do it?" she whispered.
"I-believe we can."

"O Ikey, then you kin beat up Solly Applebaum like you always wanted to, and you kin carry the papers again, and we kin get-"

"Stop, Becky!" Marian Armsby forced her voice to a hardness that

brought Becky back to reality with a thud. "We can do something; just how much I don't know. But we 'll find out. I'm going to write a note, and I want you to take it over to the settlement house on Henry Street. Do you know where it is? Yes, that's right."

While she talked, Marian wrote a few lines rapidly, folded the note, addressed it, and gave it to Becky.

"Here! here! Wait a moment," for Becky was at the door. "Now Dr. Stuart will come to see Ikey sometime this evening, and then he 'll know just how much can be done for Ikey. Run along with the note now."

But there was no need to urge Becky to haste. She was gone before Marian had finished. Like a streak she passed through the group of children, grown now until it blocked the entrance to this house where strange things were happening. Dazed, they watched her vanish round the corner.

And then, before they had agreed upon the cause of her swift flight, she reappeared. With doubled fist she advanced upon Solly Applebaum and shook it in his face.

"Ikey 's goin' to git new legs, and then you look out. He 'll punch the daylights out of you."

Solly retreated, but, her warning delivered, Becky ignored him, and turned to a wider audience. Breathless, they listened while she told of the marvelous house of the princess, with its furnishings of silver and lace; and of the princess herself, dressed always in silk, and with nothing to do but give things away.

"You did n't bring nottin' out." Trained to analytic thinking, Izzy, grandson of rabbis, objected.

"You don't s'pose she keeps things