Freddy's Generosity.
"I DECLARE the place is beginning to look quite Christmassy already," remarked Claude, as he and his cousin strolled homewards from school one afternoon in the first week of December.
"Yes," Freddy assented; "after all, there's generally something interesting to be seen in a town. How bright the shops are, lit by the electric light! Don't hurry, Claude."
Accordingly, though the air was keen with frost and it was bitterly cold, the two boys lingered, looking into the shop windows, which were certainly wonderfully fascinating. The streets were thronged with pedestrians—well-clad, prosperous people, and many of the poorer classes, who seemed mostly attracted by the contents of the grocers' windows.
"Look!" whispered Freddy to his companion as they were passing a confectioner's. He indicated as he spoke the shabby figure of a little girl, who stood with her face pressed against the window-pane. "Do you think she can be hungry?" he questioned dubiously.
"I daresay she is," Claude replied; "she looks very poor, doesn't she? I wish I had a penny to give her to buy a bun, but I haven't."
"I have. I'll give it to her."
As Freddy spoke, he approached the little girl and touched her gently on the shoulder'. She turned with a start, and demanded in an aggressive voice what he wanted.
"I—I thought perhaps you might be hungry," stammered Freddy, decidedly taken aback by her manner; "are you?"
She regarded him in silence for a minute, then tears welled into her eyes and slowly coursed down her cheeks as she realised that the boy's motive in addressing her was a kindly one, but she brushed them hastily away with the back of her hand, which was covered with chilblains, and answered in a softened tone: "No, I'm not hungry; at least, not very—that's no matter; but I was looking at those sponge cakes; they look so soft, and Bobby—he's my brother—has such a sore throat, and I was wishing he had one; I believe he could eat it."