Zula Part 5

"I believe I'll comb my hair out sleek this morning," she said to herself as she stood brus.h.i.+ng back the heavy tangled ma.s.s. "I look awful dirty, but then we always look dirty."

A heavy stroke on the shoulder startled her, as the voice of old Meg sounded close in her ear, saying:

"Here's a whole basket full of work; now mind and don't come back till you sell every one of 'em, do ye hear?"

"Yes."

"Don't bring one back; if you do Crisp'll settle ye."

The last sentence decided the matter.

"No," Zula answered, "I won't bring any back."

CHAPTER IV.

THE ESCAPE.

She took the basket and started for the city. She was very lucky for she sold more than she expected. The afternoon had nearly pa.s.sed before her stock was gone. She wandered down High street, giving her basket to a little Irish beggar girl. She had not the slightest idea of where she should go, but she had made up her mind never to go back to Crisp and his mother, and if she were compelled to lie in the street she would never go back to live the life she had led.

"Out of the road, you little beggar," called out a finely dressed boy, who was riding a bicycle, at the same time striking the wheels against Zula's limbs and tearing an ugly rent in the flesh.

She turned quickly and catching the wheel held it as she looked straight into the boy's face.

"What are you doing? You saucy thing," he said, returning her searching glance.

"I am trying to see how you look," she answered, "and I won't never forget you."

"I don't ask you to; get out of my way or I'll knock you down."

"You ain't a bit nice, if you do live in the city," Zula said, and letting go the wheel she stepped aside and stooping examined the smarting limb, from which the blood was flowing over her foot.

"Did he hurt you much, little girl?" asked a voice beside her.

Zula looked up, and beheld a lady who was about to enter the gate near where she stood. Her face was round and fair and her black silk dress and mantle lent a striking charm to the fair face and silvery hair.

"Did he hurt you?" she asked again. "Oh, dear, yes; see the blood."

Zula's heart was deeply touched. Kind words were so seldom spoken to her, that the lady's words caused the tears to start.

"Don't cry; it's too bad, I know, but run home and get your mama to do it up for you."

"I hain't got any mama nor any home," Zula said. "I hain't got anybody to do it up for me."

"Oh, that is too bad; well, come into my house and I will have Mary fix it up for you."

She led Zula to the kitchen, where Mary, the servant girl, was busy finis.h.i.+ng up the supper work.

"Well, now, Mrs. Platts, who have you got there?" Mary asked, in surprise.

"Why, it's a little girl whom some rude boy ran against with his wheel, and you see how badly he has hurt her."

The tears were still lingering on Zula's cheeks.

"Poor dear," Mary said; "why it's terribly scratched. Where do you live, little girl?"

"I don't live anywhere," Zula answered, the tears again coming to her eyes.

"Well, then, where do you stay?"

"I don't stay anywhere. I hain't got anywhere to stay. Can't I stay here to-night? I'll sleep in the woodshed, and you can lock the door so I can't steal anything."

"Why, do you steal?" Mrs. Platts asked, in her kindly way.

"Sometimes I do."

"Why, that is dreadfully wicked; don't you know it is?"

"No."

"It is, though."

"Well, I won't steal from you if you will let me stay in your shed all night."

"I don't see how we can have you around if you steal," said Mary.

"But I won't steal if you will let me stay; sure I won't."

"Why, who have we here, I wonder?"

Zula looked up and saw a portly, good-natured gentleman standing in the doorway, that led to the dining-room. She thought she had never seen a look as pleasant as that which beamed from the blue eyes, under the gold-bowed spectacles.

"It is a little girl who was hurt by a rude boy, and she says she has no home, and wants to stay all night, and will sleep in the woodshed.

She says she steals sometimes, but we can lock her up if we want to."

Mrs. Platts looked in pity, as she uttered the last sentence.

"A very honest thief, I should judge," said Mr. Platts, laughing at Zula's remark. "I never before saw one honest enough to put people on their guard."

"Shall we allow her to stay in the woodhouse?" Mrs. Platts asked of her husband.

"It seems to me that you might find a better place than that for her to sleep; she would be afraid to sleep there."

"No, I ain't afraid," said Zula, brus.h.i.+ng back her long black hair. "I ain't afraid of nothin'."