"Yes--the sweet rolls," said the girl.
The baker fumbled about behind a lot of empty baskets, found a sewing basket, filled it with small rolls--some crescent in shape, some like lady fingers, some oval, some almost like biscuit, all with pulverized sugar powdered on them thick as a frosting.He set the little basket upon an empty kneading table.
"Wait yet a minute," he commanded, and bustled up a flight of stairs.He reappeared with a bottle of milk and a piece of fresh butter.He put these beside the basket of rolls, drew a stool up before them."How's that?" asked he, his hands on his hips, his head on one side, and his big jolly face beaming upon her.
"Pretty good, don't it!"
Susan was laughing with pleasure.He pointed to the place well down in the bottle of milk where the cream ended."That's the way it should be always--not so!" said he.She nodded.Then he shook the bottle to remix the separated cream and milk."So!" he cried.Then--" _Ach, dummer Esel!_" he muttered, striking his brow a resounding thwack with the flat of his hand."A knife!"And he hastened to repair that omission.
Susan sat at the table, took one of the fresh rolls, spread butter upon it.The day will never come for her when she cannot distinctly remember the first bite of the little sweet buttered roll, eaten in that air perfumed with the aroma of baking bread.
The milk was as fine as it promised to be she drank it from the bottle.
The German watched her a while, then beckoned to his fellow workmen.They stood round, reveling in the joyful sight of this pretty hungry girl eating so happily and so heartily.
"The pie," whispered one workman to another.
They brought a small freshly baked peach pie, light and crisp and brown.Susan's beautiful eyes danced."But," she said to her first friend among the bakers, "I'm afraid I can't afford it."At this there was a loud chorus of laughter."Eat it," said her friend.
And when she had finished her rolls and butter, she did eat it.
"I never tasted a pie like that," declared she."And I like pies and can make them too."Once more they laughed, as if she had said the wittiest thing in the world.
As the last mouthful of the pie was disappearing, her friend said, "Another!""Goodness, no!" cried the girl."I couldn't eat a bite more.""But it's an apple pie." And he brought it, holding it on his big florid fat hand and turning it round to show her its full beauty.
She sighed regretfully."I simply can't," she said."How much is what I've had?"Her friend frowned."Vot you take me for--hey?" demanded he, with a terrible frown--so terrible he felt it to be that, fearing he had frightened her, he burst out laughing, to reassure.
"Oh, but I must pay," she pleaded."I didn't come begging.""Not a cent!" said her friend firmly."I'm the boss.I won't take it."She insisted until she saw she was hurting his feelings.Then she tried to thank him; but he would not listen to that, either.
"Good-by--good-by," he said gruffly."I must get to work once."But she understood, and went with a light heart up into the world again.He stood waist deep in the cellar, she hesitated upon the sidewalk."Good-by," she said, with swimming eyes.
"You don't know how good you've been to me."
"All right.Luck!" He waved his hand, half turned his back on her and looked intently up the street, his eyes blinking.
She went down the street, turned the first corner, dropped on a doorstep and sobbed and cried, out of the fullness of her heart.
When she rose to go on again, she felt stronger and gentler than she had felt since her troubles began with the quarrel over Sam Wright.A little further on she came upon a florist's shop in front of which a wagon was unloading the supply of flowers for the day's trade.She paused to look at the roses and carnations, the lilies and dahlias, the violets and verbenas and geraniums.
The fast brightening air was scented with delicate odors.She was attracted to a small geranium with many buds and two full-blown crimson flowers.
"How much for that?" she asked a young man who seemed to be in charge.
He eyed her shrewdly."Well, I reckon about fifteen cents,"replied he.
She took from her bosom the dollar bill wrapped round the eighty cents, gave him what he had asked."No, you needn't tie it up,"said she, as he moved to take it into the store.She went back to the bakeshop.The cellar door was open, but no one was in sight.Stooping down, she called: "Mr.Baker! Mr.Baker!"The big smooth face appeared below.
She set the plant down on the top step."For you," she said, and hurried away.
On a passing street car she saw the sign "Eden Park." She had heard of it--of its beauties, of the wonderful museum there.She took the next car of the same line.A few minutes, and it was being drawn up the inclined plane toward the lofty hilltops.She had thought the air pure below.She was suddenly lifted through a dense vapor--the cloud that always lies over the lower part of the city.A moment, and she was above the cloud, was being carried through the wide, clean tree-lined avenue of a beautiful suburb.On either side, lawns and gardens and charming houses, a hush brooding over them.Behind these walls, in comfortable beds, amid the surroundings that come to mind with the word "home," lay many girls such as she--happy, secure, sheltered.
Girls like herself.A wave of homesickness swept over her, daunting her for a little while.But she fought it down, watched what was going on around her."I mustn't look back--I mustn't!
Nothing there for me." At the main gateway of the park she descended.There indeed was the, to her, vast building containing the treasures of art; but she had not come for that.
She struck into the first by-path, sought out a grassy slope thickly studded with bushes, and laid herself down.She spread her skirts carefully so as not to muss them.She put her bundle under her head.
When she awoke the moon was shining upon her face--shining from a starry sky!
