Adele, looking closely at her, was seized with a sudden impulse. “Suppose you could buy one thing, what would it be?” she asked.
The little girl’s eyes flashed. “Oh! I would buy that shawl—that soft gray one with pussy fringe—it looks just like mother.”
It was a dingy little shoulder shawl, of the kind which can be bought for two dollars. “Does your mother need a shawl?” asked Adele.
“O, yes’m! she needs it badly enough; but we are not going to get one, not this year; we can’t.”
There was decision and composure in the tone, like a woman who had settled the whole question, and put it beyond the range of argument. Her manner amused Adele.
“That was for your mother,” she said; “what would you choose for yourself?”
“Me?” said the child, surprised. “Oh! I don’t know. I might take that brown coat, maybe, or some mittens, or—I don’t know which I would take. What’s the use?”
She was turning away; but Adele’s gloved hand detained her. The little sack she wore was much too thin for so cold a morning.
“Wait a minute,” she said gently. “Tell me what your name is, won’t you, and where you live, and what you came out for this cold morning with so thin a sack?”
“I’m Janey Hooper; we live down there on Factory Lane. It wasn’t far to go, and my sack is worn out, that is why it is so thin; but it will do very well for this winter. I came out to buy the Christmas dinner.”