For a moment Lucy did hesitate, but from no yielding to the repugnance she naturally felt at dirt. She hesitated, thinking to make a stipulation on her side, for the child's good.
"I tell you what, Poppie," she said; "I will kiss you every time you come to me with a clean face, as often as you like."
Poppie's dirty face fell. She put out her hand, took the letter, turned, and went away slowly.
Lucy could not bear it. She darted after her, caught her, and kissed her. The child, without looking round, instantly scudded.
Lucy could hardly believe her eyes, when, going down at Mr. Kitely's call, some time after, she found Poppie in the shop.
"She says she wants to see you, miss," said Kitely. "I don't know what she wants. Begging, I suppose."
And so she was. But all her begging lay in the cleanness and brightness of her countenance. She might have been a little saint but for the fact that her aureole was all in her face, and around it lay a border of darkness that might be felt.
"Back already!" said Lucy, in astonishment.
"Yes, lady. I didn't bite him. I throwed the letter at him, and he throwed it out again; and says I, pickin' of it up, 'You'll hear o' this to-morrow, Plush.' And says he, 'Give me that letter, you wagabones.' And I throwed it at him again, and he took it up and looked at it, and took it in. And here I am, lady," added Poppie, making a display of her clean face.
Lucy kissed her once more, and she was gone in a moment.