In summer the hot days tried her perhaps still more; she reached home in the afternoon well-nigh fainting, the books were so heavy.

Who would not have felt kindly to her?
So gentle she was, so dreadfully shy and timid, her eyes so eager, so full of unconscious pathos.

'Hood's little girl,' said the people on the way who saw her pass daily, and, however completely strangers, they said it with a certain kindness of tone and meaning.

A little thing that happened one day--take it as an anecdote.

On her way to school she passed some boys who were pelting a most wretched dog, a poor, scraggy beast driven into a corner.