“Father dead?”
“Yes.”
“Mother living?”
“No.”
“Any brothers and sisters?”
“No.”
“Well, that’s tough luck,” said Mattie, her tone full of sympathy. As she set the precious bottle on a damp spot on the sidewalk, so that her hands need not heat the milk, she noticed the tears in Bird’s eyes and changed the subject quickly.
“Ain’t you going to work soon? I’ve got a good job—cash-girl—$3.50 a week, Saturday afternoons off all summer; ’n, if I’m smart in a year, I can get to be an assistant stock-girl. How old are you, anyhow? I’m fifteen and over.”
“I’m thirteen and Uncle John is going to send me to school by and by; he says that it closes too soon to make it worth while this term.”
“Yes, you’ll have to go until you’re fourteen or they’ll chase you up, even if you do live in a flat with stair carpet. It’s too bad, though; you’d have lots more fun working.”