"The reply was tragically simple:
"'A lady stepped on her Junebug.'"
"Sure enough, full on the vestibule floor lay the murdered slum-bug, who had too hardily ventured to cross a wealthy benevolent's path. The string was yet tied to the now futile hind-leg. Carlisle, lingering, repressed her desire to laugh.
"'Oh!... Well, don't you think you could catch her a new one, perhaps?'
"'Bopper he mout ketch her a new one mebbe tomorrow, mom ... Hiesh, Rebecca!'
"Moved by some impulse in her own bouyant mood, Carlisle touched the littlest girl on the shoulder with a well-gloved finger.
"'Here—Rebecca, poor child!... You can buy yourself something better than Junebugs.'
"The proprietor of the deceased bug, having raised her damp dark face, ceased crying instantly. Over the astounding windfall the chubby fingers closed with a gesture suggesting generations of acquisitiveness.
"'Is it hers to keep?' spoke her aged sister, in a scared voice. 'That there's a dollar, mum.'
"'Hers to keep ...' replied the goddess, smiling."