“She’s the sort of little girl who lives in a caravan and sells brushes and brooms,” continued Pennie as the carriage stopped at Miss Unity’s door.
Mrs Hawthorne was accustomed sometimes to read to herself during her frequent drives between Easney and Nearminster, and to-day, when the children saw that she had her book with her, they went on talking very low so as not to disturb her. The conversation was entirely about Kettles, and the subject proved so engrossing that Pennie quite forgot all her late vexations and was perfectly amiable and pleasant. It was indeed long since she and Nancy had had such a comfortable talk together, and agreed so fully in their interests. As they jogged steadily home along the well-known road, new fancies as to the details of Kettles’ life and surroundings constantly occurred to them; there was even a certain pleasure in heightening all the miseries which they felt sure she had to bear.
“In the winter,” said Nancy, “she has chilblains on her feet—broken ones.”
Pennie shuddered. She knew what chilblains were.
“They must hurt her dreadfully,” she said, “in those great, thick boots.”
“And no stockings,” added Nancy relentlessly.
“Oh, Nancy!” said Pennie.
She felt almost as sorry as if Nancy were telling her positive facts.
“Wouldn’t it be a good thing to get one of those thick grey pairs of stockings for her out of the shop at Easney,” said Nancy after a short silence, “and a pair of boots to fit?”
“I’ve got no money,” replied Pennie shortly.