your falderolls. What? No! not falderolls? Is that it, little one, eh?"
It was Mr. Kerruish Kinvig.
The child pouted prettily and drew back her basket.
"What! not sell to me this morning. Oh, I see, you choose your customers, you do, my lady. But I'll have the law on you, I will."
Ruby looked up fearlessly into the face of the dread iconoclast.
"I don't love you," she said.
"No—eh? And why not now?"
"Because you call the flowers bad names."
"Oh, I do, do I? Well, never mind, little one. Say we strike a peace—eh?"
"I don't like people that strike," said Ruby, with averted eyes.
"Well, then, cry a truce—anything you like."
Ruby knew what crying a flower or a fish meant.
"Here, now, little one, here's a penny; that's double wages, you know. Don't you think the law would uphold me if I asked for a—"
"A what?" asked the child, with innocent eyes.
"Well, say a kiss."
The bargain was concluded and the purchase ratified. In another minute the little feet were tripping away, and from a side street came the silvery voice that sang—
"Sweet violets and primroses the sweetest."
At the next corner the lassie's childlike tones were suddenly drowned by a lustier voice which cried
