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But it isn't quite sure, after all, what the word itself comes from. There is the German "bettler" that certainly sounds like "peddler;" but it means "beggar," and I don't like to apply that term to our busy little venders. "Pedester" is the Latin word for "going on foot," and perhaps it comes from that; but the Scotch term "pedder" is still nearer our word, and means one who carries a "ped "or basket. So, without questioning where the Scotch people got their word, I think we must have borrowed ours right from them, don't you?

Such a variety of little "pedders "and "peds "as we have in our Boston Streets! Down by Boylston Market there is -- or was -- a little fellow who peddled canes, and his "ped" was just an old tow bag. They were very modest walking sticks only ten cents apiece and as they were nicely polished I've no doubt he found a ready sale for them.

Then, here is a little girl, Mary Wilton by name, who peddles candy, and her "ped" is a bright tin tray. All her candy is "home-made," so you needn't be afraid to buy it. She and her brother Willy live just over Charlestown bridge, and what they earn by peddling fruit and candy goes a great way towards supporting the family.

A favorite place of Mary's is the right hand side of Court Street, as you leave Tremont Row. Sometimes you will find her sitting, with her little candy tray, in the doorway close by Pierce's grocery. I wish she could go to school and give up this, gypsy sort of life; but the poor mother says she cannot get along without the money that Mary brings home at night. And so, unless the father gives up drinking, I am afraid our little girl will have to keep on with her peddling.

Down on State Street you may meet little Joseph Conio some day, He's a funny-looking child with hair cropped close to his head and great ears that stand out on either side like big cockle shells.

When I saw him he was barefoot, and I presume you will find him so most of the year; for boots and shoes, except in the bleakest of weather, are among the "non-essentials" with these little street urchins. But when you look at Joseph's eyes you'll forget all about his dirt and rags. The long lashes and heavy arched brows frame in a pair of liquid black orbs that would do for one of Coreggio's cherubs. And a bright, honest face it is, that looks up into yours.

Joseph is a great favorite with all who know him; and he tells me he has one kind friend on State Street who, very often, pays him money but never will take a bit of his fruit and candy.

Joseph says he is twelve years old, but he looks a deal younger; and, when I say as much, the child gravely remarks:

"I s'pose I'm so little 'cause I work so hard. Why, sometimes I carry eighty pounds of paper all at once!"

This leads me to question him further and I find that, now-a-days, he thinks it more profitable to collect waste paper than to peddle fruit and candies.

"You see, they know me now at the offices there on State Street, and the gentlemen save the paper for me. I carry down a big tow bag, fill it chuck full, and then take it round to the junk shops."

"And how much money do they give you for it?"

"A cent a pound; and I generally carry down a good many in my bag."

There are Frank, Poli, and a little sister whose name I've forgotten, -- all younger than Joseph, -- so whatever the little fellow can earn, whether by peddling or by picking up waste paper, is a great help at home.

Then, here is another street-peddler, little Stephen Magini by name, whose flaxen hair and blue eyes look as if they ought by right to belong to some genuine Saxon child. His own brother Augustus, however, has the usual Italian complexion; and I find that little Stevie is no less a child of the sunny South than he. For in Italy there are two types of nationality entirely distinct in their looks, and Stevie's father, who has very light hair and eyes, belongs to one, while his dark-eyed mother belongs to another.

Stevie is in school this morning -- he comes two hours every day -- and he stumbles through a spelling lesson with so much perseverance that I think he means to be a good scholar. But it is very funny to hear these Italian children try to spell English words. The e's are all a's and the i's e's to their ears; for at home they never hear anything but Italian. Stevie, however, picks up a good many English words on the street, so he has a curious combination just now in his little brain.

If you meet a curly-headed, rosy-cheeked urchin on the street with fruit and candies to sell, who answers to the name of "Stevie," you may be pretty sure it is the very one I am telling you about. And, if you can, just stop and buy something out of his basket, for the money you give him will not be wasted. There are lots of little ones at home, and Stevie's mother finds it hard work to keep them all in food and clothing.

Here is a little girl, at the entrance of one of our big dry-goods stores, who has cocoa-nut-cakes to sell.

"Only eight cents a dozen!" she calls to the passers-by; but I do not think she finds a ready sale for them here. By and by, I shouldn't wonder if she wandered up Tremont Street, so as to be "on the spot" when the school bells ring for recess. There, among the school-children, her little cakes will be in great demand, and she will sell them at so much a-piece, which is more profitable than to sell them by the dozen.