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"But how much do they give you for selling them?"

"Oh! that depends! If we sell 'em for twenty cents a bunch, we git three cents; two for fifteen, and only one-for ten!"

But little Julie Sullivan managed to do better than this, or rather her brother did for her. I wonder if you remember Julie's round, freckled face, and bright red hair! She was standing on Winter Street near Music Hall, that particular afternoon; but I imagine she travels up and down Washington and Tremont Streets, too. She is only eight years old, and so shy that you cannot get many words from her.

But, by numerous questions, I find she lives on Essex Street, that her father, a day laborer, had his hand badly hurt on the railroad a few months ago, and that she and her brother Jimmy, who is a few years older, are doing what they can to help the family. The boy had been to the Old Colony Depot himself, bought the flowers from the man who had gathered them at Plymouth; and he and Julie were selling them on the street at lower prices, but far better profits, than keen little Tommy!

And here, by the way, I want to tell you something about this same Jimmy that pleased me very much. He is a strong, hearty boy -- not handsome, by any means, but with a good, honest face that you like to look at. Just beside him on Winter Street that day -- so near that their baskets touched stood lame Johnnie Collins.

Both boys were calling out, "Nice Plymouth May flowers!" to the passers-by, and both were very eager to sell their bunches. At last, a lady stopped and looked into each basket. Timid little Johnnie leaned forward on his crutch, anxious to sell, if possible; and, looking at Jimmy's face, I saw a real battle was going on, though he said not a word.

The lady evidently wanted but one bouquet, and, although Jimmy's flowers were equally large and fresh, she seemed more inclined to patronize Johnnie's basket. Now, instead of urging his own flowers upon the lady, as I am very sure some boys would have done, Jimmy at once devoted all his energies to the selling of Johnnie's bouquets.

"There, mum," he said, pointing to one of the prettiest bunches in the lame boy's basket, "that's only ten cents, and it's rale fresh, mum!"

Johnnie looks up gratefully; and, with eager, unselfish interest, Jimmy goes on to tell the lady how Johnnie was run over, down by the Albany Depot.

"Why, mum! he was in the hospital for months; and he hasn't any toes, mum, but the big one, on that foot as is left!"

Before this explicit explanation, however, the lady has bought Johnnie's bunch of flowers, and has promised to come and see both him and Jimmy.

At the entrance of one of our large hotels here in Boston, you will frequently see, at noon, and early in the evening, a little flaxen-haired girl, with button-hole bouquets to sell. She is rather tall of her age, has a sweet, gentle face, and looks as if she might have a story, doesn't she? Well, here it is, just as little blue-eyed Mary told it to me herself; and though it does "read like a book" I find it all true.

"I was nine years old, m'am, when I first began to sell flowers; but that was four years ago. You see we were very poor. Father was dead, and mother was sick in bed. I was the oldest, and there were lots of little ones younger than me. One day mother was sicker than usual, and we hadn't a bit of coal in the house, nor anything to eat. Mother had just twenty-five cents left in her pocket-book -- that was all -- but I happened to remember how an aunt of mine used to make a good deal of money by selling flowers. So I asked mother to let me take the quarter and see what I could do with it. Well, she let me have it, and I went right to a florist and got some flowers -- it don't take many, you know, for a buttonhole, just a little bit of green and a few buds are enough -- and then I went around to the St. James and some other hotels, to sell them. Folks were real kind, m'am, and I made fifty cents, on that first quarter!

"Ever since then, I've kept on selling flowers; I never go near the saloons, m'am, but I have found good sales for my bouquets at the large hotels. Now, I always come here, for the ladies and gentlemen know me, and do a great deal to help me. Sometimes, they give me great, beautiful bouquets, that I can make up into lots of little ones. Here are some of them," and the little girl showed me two or three dainty little bunches -- a pansy and white pink with a bit of smilax between -- rosebud and heliotrope bouquets -- that she sold at fifteen cents apiece.

"They used to give me nice things, too, to carry home to mother -- pieces of chicken, you know, and such like why! -- there's one particular place in the dining-room now, where they put my brown paper bag; and I'm always sure to find it full when I go home at night! Mother died last winter about Christmas time, so I live with grandmother now. Usually, I earn about six dollars a week, that I carry home to her, but sometimes I can make ten."