“Pea–nuts! Cent-a-b-a-a-g!”  
This cry shrilled¹, almost yelled from the sidewalk upon which she was descending² from her carriage so startled Miss Bonnicastle that she tripped and fell. In falling, she landed plump in a basket of the nuts and scattered³ them broadcast.
 
“Look out there! What you doin’?” indignantly demanded Glory, while a crowd of street urchins⁴ 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 vigor⁵ that she split the glove and brought its owner to an upright position with more precision than grace. Then, paying no further heed⁶ to the stranger, she began a boy-to-boy assault upon the purloiners of her wares⁷; and this, in turn, started such an uproar⁸ of shrieks⁹ and gibes¹⁰ and laughter that poor Miss Laura’s nerves gave way entirely¹¹. Clutching Glory’s shoulder, she commanded, “Stop it, little girl, stop it, right away! You deafen¹² 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 interfered¹³ with the child, and there was more amazement¹⁴ than anger in Glory’s own gaze as it swept Miss Bonnicastle from head to foot. The keen scrutiny¹⁵ 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 frightful¹⁶ and―”
 
“Ho, that?” interrupted the peanut vender¹⁷, 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 scramble¹⁸ 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 Buttons? An’ I put in that patch myself. I sewed it a hour, with strings¹⁹ out the garbage boxes, a hull²⁰ hour. Hi, there! you leave them goobers be!” cried the girl, swooping²¹ down upon the few youngsters who had returned to pilfer²² 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 plentiful²³ after one’s food was paid for, and though lodgings²⁴ cost nothing, being any odd corner of floor or pavement adjoining the press-rooms whence he obtained his papers, there were other things he craved²⁵. 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, promptly²⁶ broken. There was danger of this even now and there, because Billy’s foot came swiftly up to encourage his mate’s generosity²⁷.
 
However, the kick was dexterously²⁸ intercepted²⁹ by Glory; Master Buttons was thrown upon his back, and Nick escaped both hurt and promise. With a burst of laughter all three fell to work gathering³⁰ 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 busted³¹. 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 peculiar³² action on the part of the too helpful Billy, she sternly demanded, “What you doin’ there, puttin’ in them shells 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 Buttons, 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 shell you’ve put in an’ fill up square. I’ll save them shells 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 reproof³³.
 
Miss Bonnicastle had remained an amused observer of the whole scene, though the actors in it had apparently³⁴ 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 dime³⁵. 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-Stitch?”
 
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 forth³⁶ 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 rebuked³⁷ her too zealous³⁸ 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. Better luck next time. Do you really want a bag, lady?”
 
Again the tiny packet was extended persuasively³⁹, the small peddler being most anxious to make a sale although her honesty forbade her accepting payment for goods unsold.
 
But Miss Laura scarcely saw the paper bag, for she was looking with so much interest upon the child’s own face. Such a gay, helpful, hopeful small face it was! Beneath a tangle⁴⁰ of yellow curls, the brown eyes looked forth so trustfully, and the wide mouth parted in almost continual laughter over white and well-kept teeth. Then the white carnation⁴¹ pinned to the faded, but clean, blue frock, gave a touch of daintiness. Altogether, this seemed a charming little person to be found in such a locality, where, commonly, the people were poor and ill-fed, and looked sad rather than glad. The lady’s surprise was expressed in her question, “Little girl, where do you live? How came you in this neighborhood?”
 
“Why–I belong here, ’course. Me an’ grandpa live in the littlest house in Ne’ York. Me an’ him we live together, all by our two selves, an’ we have the nicest times there is. But–but, did you want a bag?” she finished, pleadingly. Time was passing and she was too busy to waste more. She wondered, too, why anybody so rich as to ride in a carriage should tarry thus long in Elbow Lane, though, sometimes, people did get astray and turn into the Lane on their way to cross the big bridge.
 
“Yes, little Glory, as I heard them call you, I meant just what I said. I wish to buy all your stock as well as pay for a new basket. Will you please invite your friends to share the feast with you? I’m sorry I caused you so much trouble and here, the little boy suggested fifty-five cents, suppose we make it a dollar? Will that be wholly satisfactory?”
 
The face of Take-a-Stitch was again a study in its perplexity. The temptation to take the proffered⁴² money was great, but a sense of justice was even greater. After a pause, she said with complete decision, “It must be this way; you give me the fifty cents for Toni Salvatore–that’ll be hisn. You take the goobers an’ give ’em to who you want. I won’t take no pay for the basket, ’cause I can mend it again; nor for myself, ’cause I hain’t earned it. I hain’t hollered scarce any to sell such a lot. That’s fair. Will I put ’em in your carriage, lady?”
 
“No, no! Oh, dear! No, indeed. Call your mates and divide among them as you choose. Then–I wonder why my man doesn’t come back. The coachman can’t leave the horses, and the footman seems to have lost himself looking for a number it should be easy to find.”
 
The children had gathered about Glory who was now beaming with delight at the chance to bestow⁴³ a treat upon her mates as well as enjoy one herself. Indeed, her hunger made her begin to crack the goobers with her strong white teeth and to swallow the kernels⁴⁴, skins and all. But again Miss Bonnicastle touched her shoulder, though this time most gently, asking:
 
“If this is Elbow Lane, and you live in or near it, can you show me the way to the house of Captain Simon Beck, an old blind man?”
 
Glory gasped⁴⁵ and dropped her basket. All the rosy⁴⁶ color forsook⁴⁷ her face and fear usurped⁴⁸ its gaiety. For a time, she stared at the handsome old lady in terror, then demanded, brokenly, “Be–you–from–‘Snug Harbor’?”
 
It was now the stranger’s turn to stare. Wondering why the child had asked such a question and seemed so startled, she answered, “In a way, both yes and no. I am interested in ‘Snug Harbor,’ and have come to find an old, blind sea captain whom my brother employed, in order to take him, myself, to that comfortable home. Why do you ask?”
 
Then Glory fled, but she turned once to shake a warning fist toward Nick and Billy, who instantly understood her silent message and glared defiantly⁴⁹ upon the lady who had just given them an unexpected feast.