“Extra! Murder in the streets of Harlem!”

My yell goes unnoticed among the New Yorkers of 1899, hastening to get home, away from the snow. The weather’s gotten colder through the days, and though it’s bordering on a blizzard, I have to be outside selling newspapers if I want a place to sleep tonight. I stamp my feet together and tuck my stack of newspapers under my left arm so that I can blow on my numb fingers. News has been slow on a good day, but today, where people’s primary concern is to get out of the cold, nobody has time to pay attention to a fifteen-year-old newsgirl.

“Hey, Irish!”

I turn around to where a ten-year-old boy is grinning up at me, his cap covered in light dustings of snow. In his palm he holds two pennies, a miracle on days like today.

“Hiya, Grin. Where’d ya get that?” I ask.

“I sold my two newspapers, and lookit! The lady gave me two cents, one for each of ’em.”

“Nothin’ else?”

He lowers his head. “Nah. But I’ll keep tryin’. I really will.”

“Hey, Grin,” I say, bending down. “Don’t worry. I ain’t mad. It’s hard to sell papers in winter, even without the blizzard. I just wish someone . . .”

“Pardon.”

Grin and I turn around to see a stately, wealthy-looking old gentleman, his hand resting lightly on a gold-topped cane. A small smile plays around hiss face, which shows he’s speaking to us.

I tip my hat. “Can I help ya, Mister?”

“I’ll take three newspapers.”

“Sure,” I say and hand him three. In return the gentleman gives me three coins, and then begins walking away. I look down at the coins in my hand, and see that it’s not three pennies, as I thought.

It’s three quarters.

I look around frantically to return the money, but then catch a glimpse of the man standing on the corner across the street. Even from so far away I hear him call, “Keep the change! Stay warm.”

I wave, my heart warmed by the kindness of a stranger.