“Let’s,” answered Dora, “but what?”
“To give us our own papa back again.”
“Agreed, Deb; and let’s begin now.”
And away they ran down, down the dirty street. Dogs barked; ragged boys laughed and hooted, but Deb and Dora were soon up the old stairs, into the little dark bedroom, on their knees.
Just one thing they plead, they two; first Deb, “Give back our papa,” then Dora, the same.
Then with radiant faces to poor mamma.
Wednesday they two went through the market.
Turkeys, chickens, ducks, by the ton. So many were buying, their eyes were hungry. But they could not buy one cent’s worth, not having even that. Still, somehow, they murmured not, nor charged God foolishly. They knew there was a good time coming. They looked from the fat stalls and smiled into each other’s face.
That evening it was a bare floor at their home, an almost empty grate, little or no bread, mamma sad as usual.
But Deb and Dora laughed and chatted joyously as though they were at a king’s banquet. They had come from their knees.