Then Katie started, leaving Robbie behind crying; and with a trembling heart and a big lump in her throat, but bravely as a little soldier, she made her way to the path by which the excursion parties would have to return to the cars. Soon they began to come along, all tired, trying to be merry ladies and gentlemen.
Katie stood with her basket on her arm. She did not know how pretty she looked, with her brown curls floating out from beneath her big sun-bonnet, her pure white apron, her dark dress which Bessie had made from one of her own, with delicate bits of lace at the wrists, a bright bit of ribbon about her throat and a plain little breast-pin clasping it. Her big black eyes looked longingly at the passers-by, her red lips tried, many times, to utter some words that would help her sell her wares, but she could not speak, she could only up her hand and look her wants.
“What lovely leaves!” cried a young lady, “these of mine seem all faded by the carrying, and I’m tired of the great load anyhow,” and she threw away a great lot tied round with her handkerchief, and hastened toward the little merchant.
“What a pretty girl,” said the young man with her.
“How much are these?” inquired the lady.
Bessie had not thought of what she would ask for her bunches, and now, between pleasure and fright, she could not think of any price to put upon them.
“Whatever you please, Miss,” she faintly murmured.
“How lovely they are,” said the lady, and taking three bunches, she gave two to the young man with her, telling him: “Harry, you must carry these, and pay the child,” the third one she kept in her own hand.
The gentleman put his hand in his pocket, drew it out, and dropped into Katie’s basket a silver dollar.
The tears almost blinded the little girl—tears of joy over her first success—she could hardly see what the coin was, but when she picked it up she managed to stammer that she “had no change.”