The child, lost in admiration at such a nice lady, followed her with her eyes, never thinking to look at the money she had given for the flowers, until glancing into the basket to see how many bunches were still left, she beheld a shilling shining amidst the dingy coppers. Eager to return the money to its rightful owner, little Pollie darted amongst the people who thronged the pavement, ran across the road at the risk of being run over, and reached the lady just as she was stepping into her carriage.
"Please, ma'am, please," she faltered quite out of breath, and at the same time pulling her violently by the dress.
"Let go, you little vagabond!" exclaimed the indignant footman, taking Pollie by the arm to pull her away.
Fortunately the lady turned on hearing her servant speak thus, and saw the child struggling in his grip.
"What is the matter?" she asked.
"Please, ma'am, this," cried Pollie, holding up the shilling.
"That is for the violets you sold to me."
"Oh no, ma'am, it is all wrong," exclaimed the child excitedly; "those flowers are but three-pence—a penny a bunch; that's all. Here is your money, ma'am!"
The lady gazed earnestly into the little girl's flushed face, as she asked—
"Why did you not keep that shilling?"