‘I do love people who have twinkly smiles,’ remarked Kitty to Micky, on the way home after the meeting in the village schoolroom.
Micky’s great blue eyes had a rapt, far-away expression.
‘I wonder if it’s worth while,’ he said thoughtfully.
‘If what’s worth while?’ asked Kitty.
‘To be so horrid and clean as those children were in the Homes, even if you do get plenty to eat.’
‘But, Micky, we are clean—sometimes,’ said Kitty. It was just as well she qualified the statement.
‘Yes, but we are used to it,’ said Micky; ‘things aren’t half as bad when you are used to them.’
‘What part of the lecture did you like best?’ asked Kitty of Emmeline, who was walking along in dreamy silence.
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Emmeline. She spoke without thinking, for she did know perfectly well. Mr. Faulkner had spoken of a little twelve-year-old girl named Kathleen, whose pocket-money had been the very first subscription towards the building of the particular Home where he was Chaplain. The heart of this child had become so full of noble pity for her poor little brothers and sisters of the slums that she spent most of her playtime working among them and for them, and came to have such a wonderful influence on them, that they looked upon her more as an angel than an ordinary human girl. The story had fired Emmeline’s imagination, and she was dreaming over it still.
‘Didn’t you enjoy the meeting, Aunt Grace?’ asked Kitty, taking her aunt’s hand.