Little Miss Mouse

by Amy Ella Blanchard

"She hasn't those big, burning eyes for nothing," said Dr. Peaslee. "She may be undemonstrative, but she is not shallow, I'll warrant you."

So Miss Hester was watching the growth of this little bud, wondering if it would ever show a heart full of warmth and color, and if, in the long run, Ruth would really love her as Billy did. Miss Hester was not of the gushing sort herself, but, once in a while, she would pass her hand over Ruth's shining head or would pat Billy's shoulder. Then Billy would give her one of his beaming smiles as he snuggled up against her. But Ruth would only turn her great eyes upon Miss Hester with a questioning look and would invariably slip off into some corner after such a caress.

This autumn afternoon, after they had deposited their burdens in the wood-box, they were given directions by Miss Hester with a list of things to be brought from the store.

"Now, don't loiter by the way," was the charge given. "I want the things as soon as I can get them, Billy."

"What do you suppose they are?" asked Ruth as they passed out the gate. "Do you reckon it is anything good, Billy? Maybe she has the claim."

"Ah, say, you've got bats in yer belfry," returned Billy. "She ain't got no claim. I'm only goin' to get oatmeal and rice and things like that."

"Oh." Ruth sighed. It would have been pleasant to anticipate materials for gingerbread or some such luxury. "I wish it had been raisins and currants and citron and all that like we had last Thanksgiving," she said.

"Never you mind," returned Billy. "It's all right. What we have every day is heaps better than that old crust you had for dinner the day they found you on the corner, a beggar."

"Hush, Billy Beatty," cried Ruth stamping her foot. "I told you never, never to speak about that again. I just hate to have you, I do. I wasn't a beggar, I wasn't. I never asked anybody for anything and I never will. I'd die first."

"Well, you needn't get so mad about it," replied Billy. "I couldn't help it. I might have if I had been there, and if I hadn't sprained my ankle like I did; that's 'why I couldn't get along. It hurt like the mischief and I couldn't run after people like the other boys, so I didn't sell a single paper that morning, and I didn't have a copper to get anything to eat, so that's why I keeled over the way I did, and they picked me up with the wits sorter knocked out of me, and just then that preacher, or whatever he was that had you by the hand, come along. And when Dr. Peaslee was goin' me over, he told him I'd just sorter fainted 'cause I hadn't had no chicken pie for dinner, and he had us both took to that place where they looks after young uns what ain't got nobody else to look after 'em; Children's Aid Society, they call it, and they fed us up slick, didn't they?"