“Mammy promised to buy me another bowl, but she never does,” was Bess’s plaint.
Some one had given them a white earthen wash-bowl long before. The boys had broken it in a “tussle.” They were thrashed, but Bess had not had her loss made good.
“O Bess! would you mind if I ran down to Misses Finnigan’s? She might have something—cheap.”
“No; run quick,” was the eager response.
Dil gave a glance at the babies and was off. Around the corner in a basement was a small store of odds and ends. Mrs. Finnigan was a short, shrewd-looking woman with very red hair, a much turned-up nose, and one squint eye.
Dil studied the shelves as they were passing the time of day.
“What will wan of thim little wash-bowls cost?” she asked hesitatingly. “Bess had wan a lady sent to her, but Owny broke it. I’ve been looking to get her another, but it’s so hard to save up a bit o’ money.”
“Ah, yis; so it is.” Mrs. Finnigan gave the shelf a severe scrutiny. “Thim, is it now? Well, there’s wan ye kin hev’ fer sivin cints, dirt chape at that. It’s got a bit of scale knocked off, and the dust has settled in, but it’ll hould wather ivery blissid time,” and she laughed with a funny twinkle in her squint eye. “Or will ye be wantin’ somethin’ foiner?”
“Oh, no, and I’ve only five cents. If you will trust me a bit”—eagerly.
“Sure I’d trust ye to Christmas an’ the day afther, Dilsey Quinn. If iverybody was as honest, I’d be puttin’ money in the bank where I’m bewailin’ me bad debts now! Take it along wid ye.”