The room into which Fanny went was plainly furnished and was scrupulously clean. On the table were a snowy cloth and shining glasses, and two or three knives and forks, which Fanny thought looked like silver. There was a delicious scent of coffee, too, in the place, and, as the girl looked around, she thought, “This is too good for me.”
“I will not stay now, thank you,” she said aloud. “Perhaps I will come again another time, when you have had your supper, or whatever it is.”
“Oh, don’t say so. I do not like to eat alone. You do not know how dull it is to be quite lonely, especially on Sunday,” said the Basket Woman, and Fanny saw that there were tears in her eyes. Fanny yielded instantly; and while they had the simple meal together the Basket Woman talked to her on all sorts of things. When the meal was over, and the coffee drunk, they sat together in the pleasant room, and Fanny told her friend where she had been, and some of the things she had seen.
“Oh, Fanny, I wish I had been with you! I love the country so much. You went by tram, I suppose?”
“Yes; and then I walked a long way. I think it was the beautiful fields that made me feel queer.”
“Queer? How do you mean, Fanny?”
“They made me sorry I am so bad, and they made me feel as if I want to be better.”
“Yes; that is just how they make me feel. Some day, Fanny, not on Sunday though—perhaps next Saturday afternoon, if you can spare the time—I should like so much to go into the country with you. Would you be willing?”
“Yes; I should like it ever so much.”
“Then we will go together, if nothing happens to prevent. I was glad to see you listening to the Salvation Army. Did you ever go to Sunday-school?”