"I will take them, thank you. Come, Winifred."
"Mother," said Winifred, as they left the bakery, "I really do wish I knew that little girl. She has a very nice face, and if her brother is a cripple, I might go and read to him sometimes. You know I'm very fond of cripples."
The lady laughed.
"Well, you may speak to the child, if you like," she said kindly. "I scarcely know whether it would do for you to call on the family. You see, dear, a great many people live in that big apartment house, and they may not all be desirable friends for you. But look, isn't that the very child you are talking about? Yes, to be sure it is, and she seems to be in trouble. She must have had a fall."
A moment later little Betty Randall, standing in the middle of the sidewalk, gazing disconsolately down on the débris of her three cream cakes, which lay crushed and shapeless at her feet, was startled to hear a sweet, sympathetic voice saying close to her side:
"I'm sorry; how did it happen?"
"I slipped on a piece of orange peel," explained little Betty, at once recognizing the lady and little girl she had seen at the baker's, "and fell right on my bag of cream cakes. They're all spoiled."
Little Betty Randall gazing disconsolately down on the débris of her three cream cakes.—Page 10.