lk behind; all had to
seek the open air.

Connie coughed now as the bitter blast blew against her cheeks.

"Isn't it cold?" she said.

She expected to see Agnes by her side, but it was Sue she addressed.

"I've got a penny for pease-pudding to-day," said Sue. "Will you come
and have a slice, Connie? Or do yer want somethin' better? Your father,
Peter Harris, can let yer have more than a penny for yer dinner."

"Oh, yes," answered Connie; "'tain't the money--I 'aven't got not a bit
of happetite, not for nothing; but I want to say a word to Agnes
Coppenger, and I don't see her."

"Here I be," said Agnes, coming up at that moment. "Come right along,
Connie; I've got a treat for yer."

The last words were uttered in a low whisper, and Sue, finding she was
not wanted, went off in another direction. She gave little sighs as she
did so. What was wrong with pretty Connie, and why did she not go with
her? It had been her custom to slip her hand inside Sue's sturdy arm.
During the half-hour interval, the girls used to repair together to the
nearest cheap restaurant, there to secure what nourishing food their
means permitted. They used to chatter to one another, exchanging full
confidences, and loving each other very much.

But for some time now Connie had only thought of Agnes Coppenger, and
Sue felt out in the cold.

"Can't be helped," she said to herself; "but if I am not mistook, Agnes
is a bad un, and the less poor Connie sees of her the better."

Sue entered the restaurant, which was now packed full of factory girls,
and she asked eagerly for her penn'orth of pease-pudding.

Meanwhile Connie and Agnes were very differently employed. When the two
girls found themselves alone, Agnes looked full at Connie and said:

"I'm going to treat yer."

"Oh, no, you ain't," said Connie, who was proud enough in her way.

"Yes, but I be," said Agnes; "I ha' lots o' money, bless yer! Here,
we'll come in here."

An A.B.C. shop stood invitingly open just across the road. Connie had
always looked at these places of refreshment with open-eyed admiration,
and with the sort of sensation which one would have if one stood at the
gates of Paradise. To enter any place so gorgeous as an A.B.C., to be
able to sit down and have one's tea or coffee or any other refreshment
at one of those little white marble tables, seemed to her a degree of
refinement scarcely to be thought about. The A.B.C. was a sort of
forbidden fruit to Connie, but