“Nicky and Vicky! Do you know the youngsters?”
“They sell fresh eggs,” Barbara hastily explained, instantly regretting her thoughtless defense of the two little Italians. But for some reason, which she could not have named, she felt that the children needed defending.
Dudley was toying with the queer old candlestick.
“Well, this isn’t so bad, and Mother has what Sis calls a junk complex. Funny how those kids pick up things.”
“They really search in the dumps, you know,” Barbara interrupted. She was just seeing Nicky and Vicky searching in the dump and how they must have rejoiced when they had discovered the candlestick.
“Yes.” Dudley hesitated, then added: “I gave them a whole ‘buck’ for this, but they only asked a half-dollar. They looked as if they needed a lot more.” He tossed his head to one side boyishly as he said that.
“They do.” Barbara replied quickly. “Their father is—in prison, you know. He used to be gate-keeper at the tracks over at Stonybend, and he got in some trouble, which lots of people think he had nothing to do with. Dad says it’s an outrage for the state to take a man from his family and leave a poor woman to support them.” Her voice was seething with indignation, as any reference to that story always made her angry.
“So it is. The poor kids! No wonder they have to dig in the dumps. I wish I’d given them more money——”
A sudden shrill of voices checked Dudley’s remarks. Along the winding path a flutter of light dresses broke through the greenery. There seemed to be some excitement.
“Here come the girls and—what’s the matter?” Barbara exclaimed, for the girls were coming back and some one with them was crying!