Lizzie was the first
grandchild, and therefore the idol of her heart. If Lizzie was all right,
she could afford to be patient and find out by degrees.
"It's that awful man, grandmother!" Elizabeth sobbed out.
"What man? That feller in Montana you run away from?" The grandmother sat
up with snapping eyes. She was not afraid of a man, even if he did shoot
people. She would call in the police and protect her own flesh and blood.
Let him come. Mrs. Brady was ready for him.
"No, no, grandmother, the man--man--manager at the ten-cent store," sobbed
the girl; "he kissed me! Oh!" and she shuddered as if the memory was the
most terrible thing that ever came to her.
"Fer the land sakes! Is that all?" said the woman with much relief and a
degree of satisfaction. "Why, that's nothing. You ought to be proud. Many
a girl would go boasting round about that. What are you crying for? He
didn't hurt you, did he? Why, Lizzie seems to think he's fine. I tell you
Lizzie wouldn't cry if he was to kiss her, I'm sure. She'd just laugh, and
ask him fer a holiday. Here, sit up, child, and wash your face, and go
back to your work. You've evidently struck the manager on the right side,
and you're bound to get a rise in your wages. Every girl he takes a notion
to gets up and does well. Perhaps you'll get money enough to go to school.
Goodness knows what you want to go for. I s'pose it's in the blood, though
Bess used to say your pa wa'n't any great at study.
Pages:
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154