Part 2 (1/2)

poor-feelin', like he ain't used to bein'. Why, he's even been cross, truly cross, if you'll believe it!”

”Can't, hardly. Old cap'n's the jolliest soul ash.o.r.e, I believe,” said Jane.

”An' if grandpa maybe goes alone, 'cause they don't take little girls, nohow, then that colonel'd have me sent off to one o' them Homeses or 'Sylums for childern that hasn't got no real pas nor mas. Huh, needn't tell me. I've seen 'em, time an' again, walkin' in processions, with Sisters of Charity in wide white flappin' caps all the time scoldin'

them poor little girls for laughin' too loud or gettin' off the line or somethin' like that. An' them with long-tailed frocks an' choky kind of aperns an' big sunbonnets, lookin' right at my basket o' peanuts an'

never tastin' a single one. Oh, jest catch me! I'll be a newspaper boy, first, but--but, Jane dear, do you s'pose anything--any single thing, such as bein' terrible hungry, or not gettin' paid for frames or singin'--could that make my grandpa go and leave me?”

For at her own breathless vivid picture of the orphanage children, as she had seen them, the doubt concerning the captain's future actions returned to torment her afresh.

”He might be sick, honey, or somethin' like that, but not o' free will.

Old Simon Beck'll never forsake the 'light o' his eyes,' as I've heard him call you, time an' again.”

”Don't you fret, child,” continued Posy Jane. ”Ain't you the 'Queen of Elbow Lane'? Ain't all of us, round about, fond of you an' proud of you, same's if you was a real queen, indeed? Who'd look after Mis' McGinty's seven babies, when she goes a scrubbin' the station floors, if you wasn't here? Who'd help the tailor with his job when the fits of coughin' get so bad? 'Twas only a spell ago he was showin' me how't you'd sewed in the linin' to a coat he was too sick to finish an' a praisin' the st.i.tches beautiful. What'd the boys do without you to sew their rags up decent an' tend to their hurt fingers an' share your dinner with 'em when--when you have one an' they don't?

”An' you so masterful like,” went on the flower-seller, ”a makin'

everybody do as you say, whether or no. If it's a sc.r.a.p in a tenement, is my Glory afraid? not a mite. In she walks, walks she, as bold as bold, an' lays her hand on this one's shoulder an' that one's arm an'

makes 'em quit fightin'. Many's the job you've saved the police, Glory Beck, an' that very officer yonder was sayin' only yesterday how't he'd rather have you on his beat than another cop, no matter how smart he might be. He says, says he, 'That little girl can do more to keep the peace in the Lane 'an the best man on the force,' says he. 'It's prime wonderful how she manages it.' An' I up an' tells him nothin' wonderful 'bout it at all.' It's 'cause everybody loves you, little Glory, an' is ashamed not to be just as good as they know you think they be.

”Don't you fret, child,” Jane went on, ”Elbow folks won't let you go, nor'll the cap'n leave you, and if bad come to worst them asylums are fine. The Sisters is all good an' sweet, givin' their lives to them 'at needs. Don't you get notions, Glory Beck, an' judge folks 'fore you know 'em. If them orphans gets scolded now an' then it does 'em good. They ought to be. So'd you ought, if you don't get off to your peddlin'. It's long past your time. Here's a nickel for the jacket an' you put it safe by 'fore you start out. May as well let me pin one o' these carnations on you, too. They ain't sellin' so fast an' 'twould look purty on your blue frock. Blue an' white an' yeller--frock an' flower an' curly head--they compare right good.”

Ere Jane's long gossip was ended, her favorite's fears were wholly banished. With a hug for thanks and farewell, Glory was off and away, and the tired eyes of the toilers in the Lane brightened as she flitted past their dingy windows, waving a hand to this one and that and smiling upon all. To put her earnings away in the canvas bag and catch up her flat, well-mended basket, took but a minute, and, singing as she went, the busy child sped around to that block where Antonio had his stand.

That day the trade in goobers had been slack and other of his small employees had found the peanut-man a trifle cross; but, when Glory's s.h.i.+ning head and merry face came into view, his own face cleared and he gave her a friendly welcome.

”A fifty-bagger this time, dear Toni! I've got to get a heap of money after this for grandpa!”

”Alla-right, I fill him,” returned the vender; and, having carefully packed the fifty small packets in the shallow basket, he helped her to poise it on her head, as he had long since taught her his own countrywomen did. This was a fine thing for the growing child and gave her a firm erectness not common to young wage-earners. She was very proud of this accomplishment, as was her teacher, Antonio, and had more than once outstripped Billy b.u.t.tons in a race, still supporting her burden.

”Sell every bag, little one, and come back to me. I, Antonio Salvatore have secret, mystery. That will I tell when basket empty. Secret bring us both to riches, indeed!”

Crafty Antonio! Well he knew that the little girl's curiosity was great, and had led her into more than one sc.r.a.pe, and that his promise to impart a secret would make her more eager to sell her stock than the small money payment she would earn by doing so.

Glory clasped her hands and opened her brown eyes more widely, entreating, ”Now, Toni, dear Tonio, tell first and sell afterward.

Please, please.”

”No, not so, little one. Sell first, then I tell. If you sell not----”

Antonio shrugged his shoulders in a way that meant no sale, no secret.

So, already much belated, Goober Glory--as she had now become--was forced to depart to her task, though she turned about once or twice to wave farewell to her employer and to smile upon him, but she meant to make the greatest haste, for, of all delightful things, a secret was best.

CHAPTER III

In Elbow Lane

”Pea--nuts! Cent-a-b-a-a-g!”

This cry shrilled, almost yelled from the sidewalk upon which she was descending from her carriage so startled Miss Bonnicastle that she tripped and fell. In falling, she landed plump in a basket of the nuts and scattered them broadcast.