Florence stood by the gate one afternoon, looking extremely lovely in her blue and white gingham, and her curls tied back with a bit of blue ribbon. Dot had been in the mud-pie business; and, if it had proved profitable, she would no doubt have made a fortune for the family.
"Go in the house this minute, and get washed," commanded Florence. "What a naughty, dirty child you are!"
Then a carriage passed by very slowly. A young man was driving, and two ladies sat on the back seat. They looked as if they were going to halt.
Florence's heart was in her mouth. She drew herself up in her most stately attitude.
The young man turned; and the lady nearer her beckoned.
Florence stepped out slowly. She thought, with some pride, that, if they wanted a drink, she had a goblet to offer them.
"My little girl," said the lady, in a soft, clear voice, "can you direct us to a blacksmith's?"
"There is one on this road, rather more than a quarter of a mile farther."
"Thank you."