"Then it's sure to be something good. Tell me, I'm a bad hand at guessing."
"A dish of cherries. Such beauties! There was a basket full of them, and at the top she had spread some flowers. I thought it was all flowers at first. Isn't she kind, Phil? And O! She said—But there," exclaimed Millie, suddenly interrupting herself, "we'll have dinner now, and I'll tell you what she said presently."
So saying, Millie entered the house in Swift Street in which the brother and sister and their uncle lodged. Their rooms were on the top floor, and the little girl climbed wearily up the long steep staircase. Phil walked behind, taking good care not to hurry her. On every landing there were children playing,—poor, dirty, uncared-for little things who, for the most part, were shoeless and ragged. Some were quarrelling, while some, happier than the rest, were ravenously devouring the slices of bread, thinly spread with jam, that constituted their midday meal. On the second landing, a girl, older than Millie, with a coarse, bold face, called out sneeringly:
"Well, you two stuck-ups! Just arrived from your mornin' walk? Ain't you proud of your uncle? He's such an ornament to the family, that you ought to be."
"You'd better be careful what you say before my sister, Nora Dickson," returned Phil haughtily. "I won't have her insulted by such a girl as you, I can tell you."
Nora answered him with a mocking laugh, but she wisely refrained from further comment, and went on cobbling—it could not be called sewing—the ragged little frock which she held in her hand.
As Millie had said, the dinner did look inviting. Yet it was only owing to the nice arrangement of the dishes, the cleanliness of the cloth, and the polish upon the knives and forks, that it had that appearance, for the food itself was small in quantity, and second-rate in quality. There was an air of neatness and refinement about the room too, which was evidently the result of Millie's care and taste; Millie, the child-woman, who in the twelve years of her short life had seen so many changes, and experienced so many of this world's sorrows and troubles.
"Well," said Phil, cutting up his lettuce and beginning to eat with a relish that told of a good healthy appetite. "Well, what did Miss Crawford say?"
"Why," replied Millie, the glad, happy look coming back again into her eyes, "she said I was to go to her house and have tea with her. She did, Phil. Aren't you glad?"
"Jolly glad, little woman. It will just do you good to have a change, and plenty of something nice to eat for once in the way. When are you going?"