The child came nearer, and Joe stooped down to look at her more closely, for she was the most dainty little maid he had ever seen.
"I'd ask you to speak to me if I was any ways fit," he said, holding out a not over-cleanly hand.
The little maid must have judged the boy by his face rather than his apparel, for hardly had he spoken when she came boldly towards him and laid her tiny hand on his cheek with a caressing movement that captivated Joe immediately.
"Talk about daisies! Why, you're a corker! You look jest like a pink an' blue image I've seen in the shop windows. What's your name?"
"Essie," the little lady replied, and added what may have been words; but might equally well be Greek so far as Joe was concerned.
"What's that you say? I didn't jest catch on."
Miss Essie cooed at him once more, and Joe winked and blinked, trying most earnestly to understand what she said; but all to no purpose.
Then he stood erect, fearing lest the little maid's parents should appear and reprove him for having dared to speak to her; but the moments passed and no one came to claim the child.
It was evident Essie had not been accustomed to neglect, for when Joe ceased speaking, she put a tiny little hand in his and told him in her childish dialect what may have been a very interesting story.
Joe looked at the pink hand, and then at his own soiled palm.