"No! I wasn't going to--Tommy--he's in the yard round the corner there
with the big boys--he's 'leven--he's my greatest brother--he's a drefful
wicked boy--" Molly was going on with the bean-story very likely, but
at that moment the funeral procession of a baby carriage and two
followers filed up.
The great man darted forward, seized three-year-old Johnny and Harry in
his arms, stuffed one head-first, the other legs-first, into the
monstrous pack.
The one that went in head-first had his fat legs left dangling; the one
that went in legs-first, his head sticking out.
The baby went into one of his deep pockets where his screams were
stifled.
This was the work of a second and the man hurried out of sight, saying
cheerily over his shoulder to Molly, "I'll bring round the little sister
to-morrow."
Molly had so many things to take her attention that she had no time to
be conscience-smitten.
There was her odorous handkerchief; her sash, which she hung over her
arm; her pockets full of candy; under one arm the wonderful doll; under
the other, the live kitten.
But in a half hour the doll had ceased to charm; she couldn't tie the
sash herself; the "perfoomery" had evaporated; the kitten had scratched
her hand because Molly had picked her up by the tail; only a few
chocolate caramels were left, and, I suspect that all seemed as "vanity
of vanities" to poor Molly. Just then Fred, her favorite and only
remaining brother, came dancing down the path and stopped, amazed before
Molly's display of wealth.
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