“Oh, but really, Mrs. Peel—”
“Now don’t you say anything, Miss! It’s just a little remembrance from an old woman you’ve been kind to. ’Tain’t worth a row of pins.” And while Harry was thanking her she turned to Chub.
“Ain’t there any little thing you’d like to take along, sir?” she asked, eagerly. “I do wish you’d select something. I suppose there isn’t much here you’d care for, but—”
“Indeed there is, Mrs. Peel,” Chub assured her heartily, “but I’m not going to take anything. I thank you just the same.”
Mrs. Peel’s eyes were ranging the store again, and Chub nudged Harry and moved toward the door.
“Just a minute, sir!” And Mrs. Peel hurried away to one of the farther shelves, returning in a moment, looking highly pleased with herself. “There,” she said, “just you take that, sir. It’s a real pretty bit of china, ain’t it? Course that sentiment don’t mean anything. Unless,” she added, half shyly, “you want it should, sir.”
The gift was a pale pink mustache-cup, decorated with green leaves and purple flowers, and bearing the inscription in funny gilt lettering, “Friendship’s Token.” Chub glanced at Harry, whose eyes were dancing merrily and yet looked a trifle misty, and then at Mrs. Peel. Apparently, however, that lady was quite unaware of the irony of presenting Chub with a mustache-cup, and Chub restrained a smile and thanked her quite gravely and earnestly. When they reached the corner with their gifts and purchases, they turned and looked back. The little woman was in the doorway, smiling and waving her feather duster. [They waved back to her and went on.] Harry was silent until they were taking the hill. Then:
“I don’t care,” she said, half aggressive and half apologetic. “I think it was perfectly sweet of her, Chub!”
“Of course it was,” answered Chub, emphatically.
“And—and it shows,” continued Harry, earnestly, “that the world is just full of nice people, and you can’t always tell who they are at—at first.”