Sure enough, there was Mamie in her stiffly-starched best white dress, and her Sunday hat on her head, coming very slowly up towards the house. This was very unusual, for Mamie knew her bounds. The family watched her with interest to see what she meant to do.
Cricket slipped hastily behind mamma. “I don’t want to see her,” she said, impatiently.
Mamie came awkwardly to the foot of the steps.
“Is Cricket here?” she asked, with a very unusual shyness in her manner, which was partly due to the fact that she had on her best clothes on a week-day.
Cricket came unwillingly forward in obedience to mamma’s touch.
“I want to speak to you,” Mamie said, still shyly.
Cricket came slowly down the steps, half expecting some trick, since she knew Mamie’s ways so well. But the child was in earnest this time. She stood uneasily, first on one foot and then on the other, not quite knowing how to say what she wanted to.
“See here,” she burst out, at length. “I’ve brought you those,” holding out a brown paper bag. “Ma said I might. I bought ’em with the five cents that the minister give me. An’—an’—I’m awful sorry I didn’t tell you ’bout the cow right straight off,—an’—I’m not goin’ to tag you any more.”
Cricket took the bag that the child held toward her.
“Why, Mamie, you shouldn’t have spent your five cents for me,” began Cricket, shy in her turn, and hardly knowing what to say. “But it’s very good of you.”