With a smiling bow, Patty started away, but she saw by Mrs. Greene’s face, there was something left unsaid.
“What is it?” she asked, kindly, stepping back again to the counter.
“Say, Miss Fairfield,” and Mrs. Greene twisted her fingers a little nervously, “don’t think this is queer,—but won’t you wear one of your real pretty dresses? I do like to see a pretty, stylish dress,—and I never get a chance.”
“Of course I will,” said Patty, heartily; “I’ve a brand-new one that I’ve never worn, and I’ll honour the occasion with it, on Saturday.”
And then Patty went away, greatly pleased at her success.
“Had quite a buzz, didn’t yer?” observed the red-headed boy, looking at Patty with curiosity, as she passed him.
“Yes, I did. By the way, young man, what is your name?”
“Rosy; should think you’d know without askin’,” and he grabbed a bunch of his red hair with a comical grin.
“Well, I didn’t know whether it was that or Freckles,” said Patty, who was moved to chaff him, by reason of his good-natured camaraderie.
“Might just as well ‘a’ been,” and Rosy grinned wider than ever.