"I guess not. But it's all the same. I shall tell her you are one of the angels, any way. She knows about them, for she's told me ever so much about them."
The little girl laughed, and gave him the flowers.
"Don't soil them with your grimy hands," she said, a little saucily; "and when you get home—let's see, what's your name?"
"Archer Trevlyn."
"Why, what a nice name! Just like names in a storybook. I know some elegant people by the name of Trevlyn. But they live in a big house, and have flowers enough of their own. So they can't be your folks, can they?"
"No, they're not my folks," replied the boy, with a touch of bitterness in his voice.
"Well, Archer when you get home, you wash your face, do! It's so dirty!"
The boy flushed hotly. If one of his companions had said that to him, he would have knocked him down instantly. But he forgave everything this little girl said, because she was so beautiful and so kind.
"I am a street-sweeper, miss."
"Oh, that accounts for it, then. It's very muddy to-day, and you must be tired. Hark! there's Florine calling me. Good-by, Archer."