“No, Sir,” said Katy, with a culprit look, twisting the corner of her apron, and struggling to keep from crying.
“Why don’t your mother go to work and earn something?” asked Mr. Ellet.
“She cannot get any work to do,” replied Katy; “she tries very hard, grandpa.”
“Well, tell her to keep on trying, and you must grow up quick, and earn something too; money don’t grow on trees, or bushes, did you know that? What’s the reason your mother didn’t come after it herself, hey?”
“She is sick,” said Katy.
“Seems to me she’s always sick. Well, there’s a dollar,” said her grandfather, looking at the bill affectionately, as he parted with it; “if you keep on coming here at this rate, you will get all my money away. Do you think it is right to come and get all my money away, hey? Remember now, you and your mother must earn some, somehow, d’ye hear?”
“Yes, Sir,” said Katy meekly, as she closed the door.
There was a great noise and bustle in the street, and Katy was jostled hither and thither by the hurrying foot passengers; but she did not heed it, she was so busy thinking of what her grandfather had said, and wondering if she could not sell matches, or shavings, or sweep the crossings, or earn some pennies somehow, that she need never go to her grandfather again. Just then a little girl her own age, came skipping and smiling along, holding her father’s hand. Katy looked at her and thought of her father, and then she began to cry.
“What is the matter, my dear?” said a gentleman, lifting a handful of Katy’s shining curls from her face; “why do you cry, my dear?”
“I want my papa,” sobbed Katy.