rather dusty, but fairly satisfied with the boxes of bonbons and little packages that they carried back as trophies of their day in town.
“Did you notice,” asked Brenda, “those tired, half-sick, dirty-looking children around the station?—it made me awfully uncomfortable to see them.”
“Oh, yes,” responded Nora; “and there were a lot on that side street that we passed through. There was a little boy there who made me think of the Rosas. He looked so like John.”
“I’m glad it was n’t John; fancy how much better off he is in Shiloh. Except for your Bazaar, Brenda, he might be selling papers this evening in Hanover Street.”
“Oh, it was n’t my Bazaar,” returned Brenda; “just think how many people had a hand in it.”
“Well, I wish that we could have moved a dozen of those families out of the city. It almost made me cry to-day to see those two little fellows on the corner, just as we turned toward the station, squabbling over that small bunch of flowers that that lady in front of us gave them.”
“Oh, I ’ve often had children beg me for the flowers that I ’ve worn at my belt. ‘Give me a flower, lady,’ they will cry, and, of course, I always give them what I have.”
“It would be a good idea, would n’t it, to send flowers to the city regularly, so that some of these children could have them?”
“Why, Brenda Barlow, do you mean that you have never heard of the flower mission! Why, dozens of baskets
