Straight up to the first clerk
he went. "I want to see the 'prietor," he said.
The clerk wanted to smile, but the little face before her was so grave that
she answered solemnly, "He is sitting at his desk."
The little fellow walked up to the man at the desk. Mr. Martin, the
proprietor, turned around. "Good morning, little man. Did you want to see
me?" he asked.
"Yes, sir. I want a wrap for my mama. I can make fires and pay for it."
"What is your name, my boy?"
"Paul May."
"Is your father living?"
"No, sir; he died when we lived in Louisville."
"How long have you lived here?"
"We haven't been here long. Mama was sick in Louisville, and the doctor
told her to go away, and she would get well."
"Is she better?"
"Yes, sir. Last Sunday she wanted to go to church, but she didn't have any
wrap, and she cried. She didn't think I saw her, but I did. She says I'm
her little p'tector since papa died. I can make fires and pay for a wrap."
"But, little man, the store is steam-heated. I wonder if you could clean
the snow off the walk."
"Yes, sir," Paul answered, quickly.
Pages:
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252