“Ah now! that is unpleasant, but there again, Miss, I dodge it, and it’s my belief that it wouldn’t worry people half so much if they wouldn’t look at it.”
“How much have you earned this morning?”
“Not a penny yet, Miss, but it will come.”
“I want two pairs of shoe-laces,” and Miss Catharine, selecting two pairs, put down a fourpenny-piece, part of her pocket-money, twice the market value of the laces, and tripped over the bridge. When she was at dinner with her father and mother that day she suddenly said—
“Father, didn’t Mike Catchpole lose his sight in our foundry?”
“Yes.”
“Have you been talking with him again?” interposed Mrs. Furze. “I wish you would not stop on the bridge as you do. It does not look nice for a girl like you to stay and gossip with Mike.”
Catharine took no notice.
“Did you ever do anything for him?”
“What an odd question!” again interposed Mrs. Furze. “What should we do? There was his club besides, we sent him the lotion.”