"I'm most terrible sorry for you. If I had any money I'd give it to you—really and truly I would, but I haven't got nothing at all. Father has—father's ever so rich, but he's not with me, he's far away, and I can't—oh! Susy, can you write?"
Maggie stood in a contemplative attitude. Susy posed herself on one leg, held her basket of broken meat in a careless manner, as though it did not account for anything at all, and kept her quick and intelligent eyes fixed on the little princess.
"I do want to help you, very much," said Maggie, at last. "I want to help you my own self, without any one knowing anything about it. I think I want to do this as much for Jo as for you. Once I didn't like Jo at all, but now I do love her; she looks so beautiful and so sweet. I don't think you do; you have rather a cross face, and you are very red, and you've such fat cheeks; but maybe being hungry makes people look cross and red."
"And—and—fat," continued Susy eagerly. "I'm puffed out with being so holler inside. I am now, missie, really. It's an awfully empty feel, and it won't go, not a bit of it, till I gets that 'ere tambourine."
"I wish I could help you!" continued Maggie again.
Just then there were sounds inside the house, sounds of dustpans and brushes, and of industrious maids approaching, and Susy knew that her opportunity was short.
"I believe you, missie," she said, "I believe in your kind 'eart, missie. It do seem a shame as you shouldn't have no money, for you would know how to pervide for the poor and needy, missie; but—but it might be managed in other ways, Miss Maggie."
"In other ways?" repeated Maggie. "How, Susy—how, dear, nice Susy?"
"Why, now, you hasn't nothing as you could sell, I suppose?"