Large beads of perspiration rolled from the throbbing temples of the strawberry-woman, as she passed wearily up one street and down another, crying her fruit at the top of her voice.

At length all were sold but five boxes, and now it was past one o'clock.

Long before this she ought to have been at home.

Faint from over-exertion, she lifted her tray from her head, and placing it upon a door-step, sat down to rest.

As she sat thus, a lady came up, and paused at the door of the house, as if about to enter.
"You look tired, my good woman," she said kindly.