poor-feelin', like he ain't used to bein'. Why, he's even been cross, truly cross, if you'll believe it!"

"Can't, hardly. Old cap'n's the jolliest soul ash.o.r.e, I believe," said Jane.

"An' if grandpa maybe goes alone, 'cause they don't take little girls, nohow, then that colonel'd have me sent off to one o' them Homeses or 'Sylums for childern that hasn't got no real pas nor mas. Huh, needn't tell me. I've seen 'em, time an' again, walkin' in processions, with Sisters of Charity in wide white flappin' caps all the time scoldin'

them poor little girls for laughin' too loud or gettin' off the line or somethin' like that. An' them with long-tailed frocks an' choky kind of aperns an' big sunbonnets, lookin' right at my basket o' peanuts an'

never tastin' a single one. Oh, jest catch me! I'll be a newspaper boy, first, but--but, Jane dear, do you s'pose anything--any single thing, such as bein' terrible hungry, or not gettin' paid for frames or singin'--could that make my grandpa go and leave me?"

For at her own breathless vivid picture of the orphanage children, as she had seen them, the doubt concerning the captain's future actions returned to torment her afresh.

"He might be sick, honey, or somethin' like that, but not o' free will.

Old Simon Beck'll never forsake the 'light o' his eyes,' as I've heard him call you, time an' again."

"Don't you fret, child," continued Posy Jane. "Ain't you the 'Queen of Elbow Lane'? Ain't all of us, round about, fond of you an' proud of you, same's if you was a real queen, indeed? Who'd look after Mis' McGinty's seven babies, when she goes a scrubbin' the station floors, if you wasn't here? Who'd help the tailor with his job when the fits of coughin' get so bad? 'Twas only a spell ago he was showin' me how't you'd sewed in the linin' to a coat he was too sick to finish an' a praisin' the st.i.tches beautiful. What'd the boys do without you to sew their rags up decent an' tend to their hurt fingers an' share your dinner with 'em when--when you have one an' they don't?

"An' you so masterful like," went on the flower-seller, "a makin'

everybody do as you say, whether or no. If it's a sc.r.a.p in a tenement, is my Glory afraid? not a mite. In she walks, walks she, as bold as bold, an' lays her hand on this one's shoulder an' that one's arm an'

makes 'em quit fightin'. Many's the job you've saved the police, Glory Beck, an' that very officer yonder was sayin' only yesterday how't he'd rather have you on his beat than another cop, no matter how smart he might be. He says, says he, 'That little girl can do more to keep the peace in the Lane 'an the best man on the force,' says he. 'It's prime wonderful how she manages it.' An' I up an' tells him nothin' wonderful 'bout it at all.' It's 'cause everybody loves you, little Glory, an' is ashamed not to be just as good as they know you think they be.

"Don't you fret, child," Jane went on, "Elbow folks won't let you go, nor'll the cap'n leave you, and if bad come to worst them asylums are fine. The Sisters is all good an' sweet, givin' their lives to them 'at needs. Don't you get notions, Glory Beck, an' judge folks 'fore you know 'em. If them orphans gets scolded now an' then it does 'em good. They ought to be. So'd you ought, if you don't get off to your peddlin'. It's long past your time. Here's a nickel for the jacket an' you put it safe by 'fore you start out. May as well let me pin one o' these carnations on you, too. They ain't sellin' so fast an' 'twould look purty on your blue frock. Blue an' white an' yeller--frock an' flower an' curly head--they compare right good."

Ere Jane's long gossip was ended, her favorite's fears were wholly banished. With a hug for thanks and farewell, Glory was off and away, and the tired eyes of the toilers in the Lane brightened as she flitted past their dingy windows, waving a hand to this one and that and smiling upon all. To put her earnings away in the canvas bag and catch up her flat, well-mended basket, took but a minute, and, singing as she went, the busy child sped around to that block where Antonio had his stand.

That day the trade in goobers had been slack and other of his small employees had found the peanut-man a trifle cross; but, when Glory's shining head and merry face came into view, his own face cleared and he gave her a friendly welcome.

"A fifty-bagger this time, dear Toni! I've got to get a heap of money after this for grandpa!"

"Alla-right, I fill him," returned the vender; and, having carefully packed the fifty small packets in the shallow basket, he helped her to poise it on her head, as he had long since taught her his own countrywomen did. This was a fine thing for the growing child and gave her a firm erectness not common to young wage-earners. She was very proud of this accomplishment, as was her teacher, Antonio, and had more than once outstripped Billy b.u.t.tons in a race, still supporting her burden.

"Sell every bag, little one, and come back to me. I, Antonio Salvatore have secret, mystery. That will I tell when basket empty. Secret bring us both to riches, indeed!"

Crafty Antonio! Well he knew that the little girl's curiosity was great, and had led her into more than one sc.r.a.pe, and that his promise to impart a secret would make her more eager to sell her stock than the small money payment she would earn by doing so.

Glory clasped her hands and opened her brown eyes more widely, entreating, "Now, Toni, dear Tonio, tell first and sell afterward.

Please, please."

"No, not so, little one. Sell first, then I tell. If you sell not----"

Antonio shrugged his shoulders in a way that meant no sale, no secret.

So, already much belated, Goober Glory--as she had now become--was forced to depart to her task, though she turned about once or twice to wave farewell to her employer and to smile upon him, but she meant to make the greatest haste, for, of all delightful things, a secret was best.

CHAPTER III

In Elbow Lane

"Pea--nuts! Cent-a-b-a-a-g!"

This cry shrilled, almost yelled from the sidewalk upon which she was descending from her carriage so startled Miss Bonnicastle that she tripped and fell. In falling, she landed plump in a basket of the nuts and scattered them broadcast.

"Look out there! What you doin'?" indignantly demanded Glory, while a crowd of street urchins gathered to enjoy a feast.

"Help me up, little girl; never mind the nuts," begged the lady, extending her gloved hand.

"You don't mind 'em, 'course. They ain't yours!" retorted the dismayed child, yet seizing the hand with such vigor that she split the glove and brought its owner to an upright position with more precision than grace.

Then, paying no further heed to the stranger, she began a boy-to-boy a.s.sault upon the purloiners of her wares; and this, in turn, started such an uproar of shrieks and gibes and laughter that poor Miss Laura's nerves gave way entirely. Clutching Glory's shoulder, she commanded, "Stop it, little girl, stop it, right away! You deafen me."

The effect was instant. In astonished silence, the lads ceased struggling and stared at this unknown lady who had dared lay hands on the little "Queen of Elbow Lane." Wild and rough though they were, they rarely interfered with the child, and there was more amazement than anger in Glory's own gaze as it swept Miss Bonnicastle from head to foot. The keen scrutiny made the lady a trifle uncomfortable and, realizing that she had done an unusual thing, she hastened to apologize, saying, "Beg pardon, little girl, I should not have done that, only the noise was so frightful and----"

"Ho, that?" interrupted the peanut vender, with fine scorn. "Guess you ain't used to Elbow boys. That was nothin'. They was only funnin', they was. If they'd been fightin' reg'lar--my, s'pose you'd a fell down again, s'pose."

Wasting no further time upon the stranger, Glory picked up the basket and examined it, her expression becoming very downcast; and, seeing this, the boy who had been fiercest in the scramble stepped closer and asked, "Is it clean smashed, Glory?"

"Clean," she answered, sadly.

"How much'll he dock yer?" asked another lad, taking the damaged article into his own hands. "Pshaw, hadn't no handle, nohow. Half the bottom was tore an' patched with a rag. One side's all lopped over, too. Say, if he docks yer a cent, he's a mean old Dago!"

"Well, ain't he a Dago, Billy b.u.t.tons? An' I put in that patch myself. I sewed it a hour, with strings out the garbage boxes, a hull hour. Hi, there! you leave them goobers be!" cried the girl, swooping down upon the few youngsters who had returned to pilfer the scattered nuts and, at once, the two larger boys came to her aid.

"We'll help yer, Glory. An' me an' Nick'll give ye a nickel a-piece, fer new bags, won't we, Nick?" comforted Billy. But, receiving no reply from his partner in the news trade, he looked up to learn the reason. Nick was busily picking up nuts and replacing them in such bags as remained unbroken but he wasn't eager to part with his money. Nickels were not plentiful after one's food was paid for, and though lodgings cost nothing, being any odd corner of floor or pavement adjoining the press-rooms whence he obtained his papers, there were other things he craved. It would have been easy to promise but there was a code in Elbow Lane which enforced the keeping of promises. If one broke one's word one's head was, also, promptly broken. There was danger of this even now and there, because Billy's foot came swiftly up to encourage his mate's generosity.

However, the kick was dexterously intercepted by Glory; Master b.u.t.tons was thrown upon his back, and Nick escaped both hurt and promise. With a burst of laughter all three fell to work gathering up the nuts and the small peddler's face was as gay as ever, as she cried:

"Say, boys, 'tain't nigh so bad. Ain't more'n half of 'em busted. I guess the grocer-man'll trust me to that many--he's real good-natured to-day. His jumper's tore, too, so maybe he'll let me work it out."

Then, perceiving a peculiar action on the part of the too helpful Billy, she sternly demanded, "What you doin' there, puttin' in them sh.e.l.ls that's been all chewed?"

"Huh! That's all right. I jams 'em down in the bottom. They don't show an' fills up faster'n th' others. Gotter make yer losin's good, hain't yer?"

"Yes, Billy b.u.t.tons, I have, but I ain't goin' to make 'em cheatin'

anybody. What'd grandpa think or say to that? Now you can just empty out every single goober sh.e.l.l you've put in an' fill up square. I'll save them sh.e.l.ls by theirselves, so's to have 'em ready next time you yourself want to buy off me."

The beautiful justice of this promise so impressed the newsboy that he turned a somersault, whereby more peanuts were crushed and he earned a fresh reproof.

Miss Bonnicastle had remained an amused observer of the whole scene, though the actors in it had apparently forgotten her presence. To remind them of this, she inquired, "Children, will you please tell me how much your peanuts were worth?"

"Cent a bag!" promptly returned Glory, selecting the best looking packet and holding it toward this possible customer.

"All of them, I mean. I wish to pay you for all of them," explained the lady, opening her purse.

Too surprised to speak for herself, Nick answered for the vender, "They was fifty bags, that's fifty cents, an' five fer commish. If it'd been a hunderd, 'twould ha' been a dime. Glory, she's the best seller Toni Salvatore's got, an' he often chucks her in a bag fer herself, besides.

Fifty-five'd be fair, eh, Take-a-St.i.tch?"

Glancing at Glory's sunny face, Miss Laura did not wonder at the child's success. Almost anybody would buy from her for the sake of bringing forth one of those flashing smiles, but the girl had now found her own voice and indignantly cried:

"Oh, parson, if you ain't the cheat, I never! Chargin' money for goobers what's smashed! Think you'll get a lot for yourself, don't you? Well, you won't an' you needn't look to, so there."

Thus having rebuked her too zealous champion Glory explained to Miss Bonnicastle that "they couldn't be more'n twenty-five good bags left.

They belongs to Antonio Salvatore, the peanut man. I was goin' to buy needles an' thread with part, needin' needles most, but no matter.