"Oh, you poor little thing! Come here, you dear little kitten. I'll give you some money. Won't you hold my horse? He won't hurt you." This to the elder child.
She threw herself on her knees in the road, as regardless of the dust as were the children, and drawing the sobbing child close to her, took her handkerchief from her pocket and gently wiped its little, dirty, smeared face, and began comforting it in soothing tones. Keith had come up and stood watching her with quickening breath. All he could see under her hat was an oval chin and the dainty curve of a pink cheek where it faded into snow, and at the back of a small head a knot of brown hair resting on the nape of a shapely neck. For the rest, she had a trim figure and wore new gloves which fitted perfectly. Keith mentally decided that she must be about sixteen or seventeen years old, and, from the glimpse he had caught of her, must be pretty. He became conscious suddenly that he had on his worst suit of clothes.
"Good evening," he said, raising his hand to his hat.
The girl glanced up just as the hat was lifted.
"How do you do?"
Their eyes met, and the color surged into Keith's face, and the hat came off with quite a flourish.
Why, she was beautiful! Her eyes were as blue as wet violets.
"I will help you hunt for it," he said half guilefully, half kindly. "Where did she drop it?" He did not take his eyes from the picture of the slim figure on her knees.
"She has lost her money, poor little dear! She was on her way to the store to buy candy, and lost all her money."
At this fresh recital of her loss, the little, smeared face began to pucker again. But the girl cleared it with a kiss.