could n't make it out at first." She turned round to the Indian gentleman and spoke her next words to him. "I beg your pardon, sir, but there 's not many young people that notices a hungry face in that way; and I 've thought of it many a time. Excuse the liberty, miss,"—to Sara,—"but you look rosier and—well, better than you did that—that—"
"I am better, thank you," said Sara. "And—I am much happier—and I have come to ask you to do something for me."
"Me, miss!" exclaimed the bun-woman, smiling cheerfully. "Why, bless you! yes, miss. What can I do?"
And then Sara, leaning on the counter, made her little proposal concerning the dreadful days and the hungry waifs and the hot buns.
The woman watched her, and listened with an astonished face.
"Why, bless me!" she said again when she had heard it all; "it 'll be a pleasure to me to do it. I am a working-woman myself and cannot afford to do much on my own account, and there 's sights of trouble on every side; but, if you 'll excuse me, I 'm bound to say I 've given away many a bit of bread since that wet afternoon, just along o' thinking of you—an' how wet an' cold you was, an' how hungry you looked; an' yet you gave away your hot buns as if you was a princess."
The Indian gentleman smiled involuntarily at this, and Sara smiled a little, too, remembering what she had said to herself when she put the buns down on the ravenous child's ragged lap.
