Near the fire-place, where naught but a little ashes and well-charred bark remained, half-reclining in a large wooden chair, lay the beggar-boy. His cap had fallen on the ground, and his dark curling hair fell clustering over his extended arm, as his head rested on it. He had seemingly fallen asleep the night before, for his thin summer PAGE 204 clothes were on, and his basket, yet filled with the fragments of broken feasts, remained untouched at his feet. I put my hand upon his beautiful head; it was icy cold! |