Then came along a careless boy, whistling a merry tune, and with his hands thrust into his pockets. Confidence and hope made her ask him also.
"Please, will you buy a broom?"
The boy stopped, and, still whistling, looked into her face, glanced over her dress, tambourine and brooms; and, as his eyes rested upon these last, he replied:
"Buy a broom! Pray, what think you I want with one of those flimsy things?" And then he looked at her as though he thought her so absurd!
Cybele was abashed by his manner, and began to think she had asked him to do a very foolish thing, so she hurried to reply:
"I don't know, I'm sure; but they brush away flies with them."
"Flies!" he repeated, contemptuously, at the same time taking one of the brooms from her little bundle, and thrusting it about him in all conceivable ways; pulling open the brush, and altogether ruining it. "Flies! it is getting too cool for flies; and, besides, my mother never lets any get into the house; so it's no use any way. Why don't you go home? It's a shame to be walking round the streets so. You ought to be in school, or at work, or something else."
CYBELE THE TAMBOURINE GIRL.