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Brave little Mary! She tells her story in the simplest, most unaffected way; but I know that for nearly four years she was the sole support and comfort of that poor sick mother, and those little helpless children!

Now that she is growing into her teens, I wish our little flower-girl might have some better field of labor opened to her. I fear she has never been to school much -- her opportunities have been few and far between -- but she is very quick, intelligent, and eager to learn. These hotel offices, however unexceptionable they may be, are certainly not the best of school-rooms; and I want such influences thrown about our bright, energetic little Mary that she may grow up into a good, noble, useful woman!

There are other little flower-sellers that I might tell you about -- the "Boston-rose-bud" boy who stands on Winter Street, and holds an odd little tray all full of holes, of different sizes, into which he tucks his bouquets. Sometimes, he has pretty little bunches of English violets, and great purple and gold pansies; but "rose buds" seem to be his particular specialty, and he sells them at various prices, according to their size and variety. Then, in the depots, at the ferries, in the cars, at the entrance of concert rooms and theatres, you will find these little flower-venders, at all most any season of the year. At the holidays, and just before Easter, they sell more, perhaps, than at any other time; but flowers are so fashionable, now-a-days, at all sorts of entertainments, that the trade in them is really very good all through the year.

There are about one hundred florists in, and just about, Boston; and boys and girls are frequently employed by them in picking and arranging the flowers. Very few, however, send children upon the street to sell bouquets. In almost every instance, you will find that the children themselves have bought the flowers at wholesale prices, and so sell independently of the florists.

THE STREET MUSICIANS.

"But we must hev the monish."

That was what the old Jew said when Mr. Coles, the kind city officer who looks after these little steeet-waifs, took the child home.

You see he had found Katrina playing upon her violin in one of those dreadful bar-rooms down at the North End.

I don't think the little girl knew (when she stepped inside) what a bad, dangerous place it was; she only thought of the pennies the rude, drunken men had promised her -- those bright, beautiful pennies that would save her from cross words and angry blows when she went home at night.

Poor little Katrina! She is only eleven years old yet she has seen more of life -- and the dark side of it too -- than many thrice her age! It is four years since she came from Italy.

"When we lived there," says little Katrina, "I used to carry stones and mortar on my head to the men that were making buildings. They paid us fifty cents a day, and lots of us used to do that sort of work. We lived near Naples, and I've got two grandmothers and one grandfather there now!"

"And how did it happen that you came to America?"

"Well, father came over first, and when he got back he said I must learn to play the violin. So I took lessons three months, and we paid the man that showed me how, fifteen dollars-five dollars each month."

"And did you like to play?"

"Oh! ever so much -- and I learned to sing too! Then father bought me a violin -- I guess he paid fifteen dollars for it -- and it wasn't long after that we came over in a great big boat. I liked that!"

Little Katrina's black eyes sparkled as she told about that long, nice ride on the water. Evidently, she didn't know what it was to be sea-sick.

"We stayed in New York a while after we landed -- father, mother and me. I couldn't talk English then, but I learned by listening real hard."

Katrina talks very plainly now, only hesitates sometimes in getting hold of the right word.

"Father and me used to go about together, he with the harp and I with the violin. Mother don't know how to play nor sing either."

"And how much could you earn in this way -- you and your father? "

"Oh! sometimes fifty cents through the day, and sometimes a dollar or a dollar and a half. We didn't stay long, though, in New York; we lived longest in New Haven. Then father took us to Portland, but you know they don't have saloons there: so we couldn't get much money!"

An honest confession, wasn't it?

"But does your father let you go into saloons to play and sing?"

"He don't like to have me go alone, and I never stay very late!"

Since Mr. Coles found the child, some months ago, she has attended the Cushman school pretty regularly. The father found to his astonishment that in the good city of Boston he had no right to send his child out upon the street in school hours. Confirmed truancy, like confirmed drunkenness, is a culpable offence; and, according to Boston laws, children that cannot be kept in school are sent "down to the Island" for terms of six months to two years, according to the degree of offence.