Mrs. Breynton took up a copy of “Harper’s Magazine,” and handed it to Gypsy.
“Tell her I have turned the leaf down at some articles I think will interest her, and ask her if the powder I left her put her to sleep.”
“Who is Peace Maythorne?” asked Gypsy, wondering. “Is she poor?”
“Yes.”
“How funny to send her a ‘Harper’s,’” said Gypsy. “Why don’t you give her some money, or something?”
“Some things are worth more than money to some people,” said Mrs. Breynton, smiling.
“Why! then you had been into that house before I found Mrs. Littlejohn?” said Gypsy, as the thought first struck her.
“Oh, yes; many times.”
Gypsy started off, with the Magazine under her arm, wondering if there were a house in town, filled with these wretched poor, in which her mother was not known as a friend.
Her heart sank a little as she climbed the dark stairs to Mrs. Littlejohn’s room. She had begged of her mother a tiny pailful of green peas, with which she hoped to pacify the old woman, but she was somewhat in dread of hearing her talk, and ashamed to confess her own neglect.