dignant old ladies, but, being a
gentleman, took off his hat and ran across to thank them for their
interest in the fray. Several other lads followed as irresistibly as
flies to a honey-pot, for the tin box was suggestive of cake, and they
waited for no invitation.

Miss Hetty was truly a noble yet a droll sight, as she stood there, a
trim little old lady, with her cap-strings flying in the wind, her rosy
old face shining with good-will, as she dealt out cookies with a lavish
hand, and a kind word to all.

"Here's a nice big one for you, my dear. I don't know your name, but I
do your face, and I like to see a big boy stand up for the little ones,"
she said, beaming at Charley as he came up.

"Thank you, ma'am. That's a splendid one. We don't get anything so nice
over there." And Charley gratefully bolted the cake in three mouthfuls,
having given away his own lunch.

"No, indeed! One of these is worth a dozen of those nasty pies. I hate
to see you eating them, and I don't believe your mothers know how bad
they are," said Miss Hetty, diving for another handful into the depths
of the box, which was half empty already.

"Wish you'd teach old Peck how you make 'em. We'd be glad enough to buy
these and let the cockroach pies alone," said Charley, accepting another
and enjoying the fun, for half the fellows were watching the scene from
over the way.

"Cockroach pies! You don't mean to say?" cried Miss Hetty, nearly
dropping her load in her horror at the idea, for she had heard of
fricasseed frogs and roasted locusts, and thought a new delicacy had
been found.

"We find 'em in the apple-sauce sometimes, and nails and bits of barrel
in the cake, so some of us don't patronize Peck," replied Charley; and
little Briggs the cripple added eagerly,--

"I never do; my mother won't let me."

"He never has any money, that's why," bawled Dickson, the fat boy,
dodging behind the fence as he spoke.

"Never you mind, sonny, you come here every day, and _I'll_ see that you
have a good lunch. Apples too, _red ones_, if you like them, with your
cake," answered Miss Hetty, patting his head and sending an indignant
glance across the street.

"Cry-baby! Molly-coddle! Grandma's darling!" jeered Dickson, and then
fled, for Charley fired a ball at him with such good aim it narrowly
escaped his nose.

"That boy will have the jaundice as sure as fate, and he deserves it,"
said Miss Hetty, sternly, as she dropped the lid on the now empty