“I’ll go into the parlor and make my picture-puzzle,” she said.
“That’s right, dear,” Mrs. Tyler answered.
The little girl worked for a time at the elaborate puzzle spread out on the parlor table; but its green trees were perplexing, and she soon returned to the kitchen to find the pink dress finished and on the top of a pile of speckless linen in the laundry basket. Her mother stood with hat and coat on.
“I’m going to run out to make sure that John comes to-night to get the clothes,” Mrs. Tyler said. “Now, don’t look so woe-begone, dear. I’ll cook waffles for supper, and we’ll have the maple syrup that Mrs. Brown brought us from the country.”
Hazel’s face brightened. “May we eat off the pretty china?” she asked.
“Yes, you may set the table with it when I get back.” And Mrs. Tyler went out into the narrow hall, down the dark stairs and into the narrow street.
She could hardly have reached the corner when Hazel heard a knock at the door, and opened it to a little black girl who at once stepped gaily into the room.
“Where you been all day, Hazel?” she asked.
She was a jolly little girl of ten, a year younger than Hazel, with plump arms and legs and a sturdy body. Her crinkly hair was tied with a bright red ribbon, and she wore a gay bandanna about her neck. Her black eyes shone with good will.
“How do you do, Charity?” Hazel said, a little hesitatingly.