“Where do you live?” she said, by way of opening the conversation, as she paused in front of the little girl.
“You ain’t a settlement teacher,” said the child. “Comes a settlement teacher, and I tell my name. But you ain’t one.”
“No,” said Betty, smiling kindly, “I’m not a settlement teacher, but I want to give you something—something very nice.”
“What is it nice you wants fer to give me?”
The child did not look receptively inclined, but Betty held out the big box toward her and said:
“It’s this box of lovely luncheon, fried chicken and little pies! Take it home to your mama.”
The girl turned on Betty like a little fury. Her black eyes snapped, and her whole little body shook with indignation as she cried:
“Think shame how you says! My mama wouldn’t let me to take whole bunches of lunch from a lady! It ain’t for ladies to give lunches off on the street!” With a flirt of her shabby little skirts, the child turned her back on Betty and walked haughtily away.
It was Betty’s first experience with that peculiar type of dignity and self-respect, and she was bewildered at the sudden fury of the indignant child.
But the box was still to be disposed of, and Betty looked around for another opportunity. She was tempted to throw it away, but the thought of Ellen’s dainty morsels being wasted was so disappointing that she resolved to try once more anyhow.