"Yes, it's getting near supper time." Lydia tucked the still hectically staring doll in beside her small sister, turned the perambulator around and ran it along one of the little paths to the sidewalk. She hoisted it to the sidewalk with some puffing and several "darn its," then started toward the block of houses, north of the pasture.
At the crossing she met a small girl of her own age, who carried a toy balloon, and a popcorn ball.
"Hello, Lydia!" she cried. "It was a perfectly lovely circus!"
"Was it?" said Lydia, with an indifferent voice that something in her blue eyes denied. "Well, I had to take care of little Patience!"
"Huh!" shrilled the little girl, "old Lizzie would have done that! I think your father's mean not to give you the money."
Lydia's red cheeks went still redder. "My father's got plenty of money," she began fiercely. Here the baby interrupted.
"Baby love pritty—Baby love—" she held out two beseeching dimpled hands toward the red balloon.
"Patience, you can't have it," cried Lydia. "It—it'll make your tummy ache. I'll buy you one when you're older."
The black-eyed child, holding the red balloon, suddenly kissed little Patience, who was the pet of all the children in the neighborhood, and put the string of her balloon into the dimpled hand. "I had the circus—you can have the balloon," she said.
Lydia jerked the string away and held it out to the owner.