It goes on and on, till Lita fears it will really go out of sight. Then
the little figure "slows up" again, opens the little purse, and stops
short!
Ah, the horrors of poverty! Lita understands the poor little irresolute
figure. No money means no butter crackers, and no butter crackers means
despair. The little steps come homeward. The blue eyes are bent on the
ground. She does not know that grandpa has come quietly up behind her,
and found each little silver piece.
The little rebel appeared in the hall just as dinner was carried in.
There was a most savory odor of fricassee. Grandma and mamma and Lita
were just entering the dining room.
"Well," Zay calmly announced, "I 'cluded not to go till after dinner."
"Is that so?" quietly replied her mother. "But you might better have
gone on. Any little girl who wants to leave a nice home because she
can't have her own way, needn't look for any dinner here! I expected you
to dine on butter crackers and bears."
"I like chicken, I do," said proud little Zay with appealing eyes, but
no tears; "and then I lost all my pennies!"
In vain did the tender hearted grandma pull mamma's dress,--mamma
entered the dining room and shut the door; and up came poor Zay to the
room where I awaited my dinner, for she had seen a tray borne hither.
But she did not know that her mamma's parting injunction had been, "you
must not give her anything! I must--indeed, I _wish_ to teach my child a
lesson.
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