Her countenance, clapped his hands noisily together for the
purpose of rousing her.
She started, and looked up. What a volume of sorrow and of suffering
did those pale features speak!
Suddenly a look of pleasure flashed over her countenance. She sprang
from her seat, and advancing towards Frank, exclaimed:
"Maybe you'll be wanting a veil, Sir. I've plenty nice ones, stronger,
better, and cheaper than you'll get at the store. Summer dust's coming,
Sir. You'll want one, won't you? I havn't sold one this week," she
added, almost imploringly, perceiving what she fancied a "no-customer"
look in his face.
"I'll have one, little girl," he answered in a kindly tone, "and what
price is it to be?"
"Eighteen pence, Sir, if you'd please be so good."
Frank put the money into her hand, but returned the veil. This action
seemed not quite to satisfy her; either she did not comprehend what he
meant, or it hurt her self-pride, for she said quickly:
"I havn't only green veils - p'raps you'd like some candles better - I
makes them too."
"YOU make them?" said Frank, laughing as he glanced at the little hands
that were still holding the veil for his acceptance. "YOU make them?
Your mother makes the candles, you mean."
"I have no mother now," said she, with an expression of real melancholy
in her countenance and voice.
