"You go off an' have a swing, Madeline," he said; "I'm goin' to have a chat with my friend Geordie here—I'll see you in a little while."
Madeline scarcely heard him nor did any response escape her lips. For other words had fallen on her ears, hot and tingling now with shame and indignation.
"Isn't this the limit," a jibing voice was saying; "isn't this the human limit?—rhubarb tarts! Three of them! Who wants to buy a tin plate?" the voice went jeeringly on. It was Cecil Craig's voice, and he held the humble contributions aloft as he spoke.
"There must be some awful rich folks here to-day—I guess these tarts are meant for the minister. That's all there is in the basket—so I guess some one must keep a rhubarb farm; look at the size of them—big as a full moon! I believe I'll give them to my horse," he cried with a contemptuous laugh. "Have you any idea who sent these, Harvey?" turning with the question to the conscious boy who stood on the outer edge of the circle.
A few joined in thoughtless laughter. But it was no laughing matter for poor Harvey, trying now to steal alone and unnoticed from among the throng. Yet not alone; for one humble little form clung close beside him, retreating as rapidly as he, her face flushed and drawn. They had taken but a few steps when Jessie's hand stole caressingly into her brother's, the little legs trying eagerly to keep pace with his ardent stride.
"Don't mind, Harvey, don't mind," she said soothingly. "He's just as mean as he can be. It's all because he's rich—an' he thinks we're poor. He doesn't know how good mother is at makin' tarts, or he wouldn't talk like that."
Harvey glanced at his sister as though he scarcely saw her. His eyes, usually so mild, were now almost terrible in their fiery anger, and his hand closed so tightly over his sister's that she cried out in pain. Once he looked swiftly back and caught a glimpse of Cecil leering at him in the distance; he fixed his teeth tight together and strode swiftly on.
"Aren't you goin' back, Harvey?" Jessie enquired a little wistfully. "I'm real hungry, Harvey—an' I saw chickens there, an' there was some peaches too—they looked awful nice," she said earnestly.
"Going back!" Harvey almost shouted. "No, you bet I'm not going back—and neither are you; I'd starve before I'd touch a bite of their stuff. A lot of stuck-up things," he cried passionately, "and you and me cast out everywhere because we're poor! I'll show them yet—you just see if I don't; if I can get half a chance—and to think the way poor mother worked at them, and she thought she was making something real nice too, and——"
"An' she put sugar in them too, Harvey—an' she hardly ever puts sugar in anything now. She put lots of butter an' sugar in, for I saw her. But ain't you goin' back, Harvey?—there's lemonade, you know, a whole boiler full of it. I tasted it and it was lovely," she assured him, looking wistfully up into the angry face.