“And your name is——?”
“Ca—I mean Polly—Polly Carter please, ’m.”
“Polly is one of our best cash-girls, madam,” put in the salesman quietly. “I don’t know what we’d do without Polly. She’s so quick and ready, we all try to get her to carry to the desk for us, and that’s why she didn’t come at my first call. She wasn’t loitering. She was just rushed with business. That’s what comes of being reliable and popular. Polly can always be trusted and she’s never cross.”
“Why, that is a royal recommendation!” said Miss Cissy approvingly. “Now, I wonder how it happens that Polly is a cash-girl? Hasn’t she anybody to take care of her? No father or mother?”
MISS CICELY HAD HER ARM AROUND HER
“They’re dead, ’m,” answered Polly promptly. “I have a big sister and she used to take care of me and send me to school. She worked here. She was behind a counter. And she did needlework besides, oh, beautiful needlework! but she got hurted last winter run over by a truck, and both her legs were under the wheels and—so now—I take care of her, and the s’ciety lets me ’cause I study when I’m through here, and sister, she teaches me and I’m never sick and it’s nec’ary, ’cause sister can’t do anything but her needlework now.”
Miss Cissy’s arm tightened about the waist of the little bread-winner.
“Where does your big sister live?” she asked quietly.