“What are you doing? You saucy thing,” he said, returning her searching glance.
“I am trying to see how you look,” she answered, “and I won’t never forget you.”
“I don’t ask you to; get out of my way or I’ll knock you down.”
“You ain’t a bit nice, if you do live in the city,” Zula said, and letting go the wheel she stepped aside and 30 stooping examined the smarting limb, from which the blood was flowing over her foot.
“Did he hurt you much, little girl?” asked a voice beside her.
Zula looked up, and beheld a lady who was about to enter the gate near where she stood. Her face was round and fair and her black silk dress and mantle lent a striking charm to the fair face and silvery hair.
“Did he hurt you?” she asked again. “Oh, dear, yes; see the blood.”
Zula’s heart was deeply touched. Kind words were so seldom spoken to her, that the lady’s words caused the tears to start.
“Don’t cry; it’s too bad, I know, but run home and get your mama to do it up for you.”
“I hain’t got any mama nor any home,” Zula said. “I hain’t got anybody to do it up for me.”