Phil began patting her on the back.  “Don’t cry, sister,” he begged.  “We’ll go back to that bake-shop we passed a little while ago, and get something to eat.  Don’t you remember how good it smelled?  Come on!  You’ll feel better when you’ve had a lunch.  I’ll spend every penny we’ve got, if you’ll only stop crying.  We can make some more this afternoon.”

Elsie wiped her eyes on her shawl, let him help her to her feet, and obediently trotted after him as we went down the narrow back street, through which we had passed a few moments before.  It was not far to the bakery.  The opening of the door made a bell ring somewhere in the rear of the shop, and a fat, motherly old German woman came waddling to the front.  Phil bought a bag of buns and another of little cakes, and was turning to go out again when Elsie climbed up on a chair near the stove, refusing to move.  A cold wind had begun to blow outdoors, and her hands and wrists showed red below her short sleeves.

“I’m tired,” she said, with an appealing glance of her big blue eyes at the old woman.  “Mayn’t we stay here and rest while we eat the cakes?”

“Ach, yes, mein liebchen!” cried the motherly old soul, taking Elsie’s cold little hands in hers.  “Come back mit me, where is one leedle chair like yourself.”

She led the way into a tiny sitting-room at the rear of the shop, where a canary in a cage and geraniums blooming in the window made it seem like summer.  Hot, spicy smells of good things baking, floated in from ovens somewhere out of sight.

As Elsie sank down into the little chair, with a deep sigh, Phil trundled the wheelbarrow into the room, and for the first time the old woman caught sight of me and the music-box.  You should have heard her exclamations and questions.  She laughed at Phil’s answers until her fat sides shook.  Little by little she found out the whole truth about our running away, and seemed to think it very amusing.  After we had rested awhile, Phil offered to give her a private performance.  As he started to wind the music-box, she opened a door into a stairway and called, “Oh, Meena!  Make haste, once already, and bring der baby!”

In answer to her call, a young woman came hurrying down the steps, carrying a big fat baby, who stared at us solemnly with its round blue eyes, and stuck its thumb in its mouth.  But as the music started, and I began my dancing, he kicked and crowed with delight.  The more he gurgled and cooed and waved his little fat hands, the broader the smiles spread on the women’s faces.  I mention this because the more he noticed us, the more his grandmother’s heart seemed to warm toward us.  When the music stopped, she went out of the room and brought us each a glass of milk and a little mince pie, hot from the oven.

After we had eaten, Elsie got down on the rug and played with the baby, although Phil kept insisting that it was time to go.  One thing after another delayed us until it was nearly the middle of the afternoon before we started out again on the streets.  The old woman pinned Elsie’s shawl around her more comfortably, kissed her on each cheek, and told Phil to hurry home with her, that it was getting too cold to be wandering around, standing on street corners.