rlier in the morning. "Now, then, foller yer
charity an' make yerself scarce!" and she stamped her foot defiantly at
Mary Louise, who was dumb with astonishment.

It was hard to understand this queer girl. She had made no objection to
replacing the broken dishes, yet a present of food aroused her to
violent anger. Her temper was positively something terrible in so small
a person and remembering her story of how Old Swallowtail had clenched
his talon-like fingers and twisted Ingua's arm till she screamed with
pain, Mary Louise could well believe the statement that the child was
"a Cragg to the backbone."

But Mary Louise, although only a few years older than Ingua, had had a
good deal more experience and was, moreover, a born diplomat.
Astonished though she was, she quickly comprehended the peculiar pride
exhibited in a refusal to accept food from a stranger and knew she must
soothe the girl's outraged spirit of independence if they were to
remain friends.

"I guess I'll have to beg your pardon, Ingua," she said quietly. "I was
grieved that you are so often hungry, while I have so much more than I
need, and the money which I spent was all my own, to do what I liked
with. If I were in your place, and you in mine, and we were good chums,
as I know we're going to be, I'd be glad to have you help me in any
little way you could. True friends, Ingua, share and share alike and
don't let any foolish pride come between them."

She spoke earnestly, with a ring of sincerity in her voice that
impressed the other girl. Ingua's anger had melted as quickly as it had
roused and with sudden impulsiveness she seized Mary Louise's hands in
her own and began to cry.

"I'm as wicked as they make 'em!" she wailed. "I know I am! But I can't
help it, Mary Louise; it's borned in me. I want to be friends with ye,
but I won't take your charity if I starve. Not now, anyhow. Here; I'll
go git the stuff an' put it back in yer basket, an' then ye kin lug it
home an' do what ye please with it."

They picked up the cans together, Ingua growing more calm and cheerful
each moment. She even laughed at Mary Louise's disappointed expression
and said:

"I don't always hev tantrums. This is my bad day; but the devils'll
work out o' me by termorrer and I'll be sweet as sugar. I'm sorry; but
it's the Cragg blood that sets me crazy, at times."

"Won't you run over and see me?" asked Mary Louise, preparing to go
home.

"When?"

"This afternoon."

I