"Was it?" said Lydia, with an indifferent voice that something in her
blue eyes denied. "Well, I had to take care of little Patience!"

"Huh!" shrilled the little girl, "old Lizzie would have done that! I
think your father's mean not to give you the money."

Lydia's red cheeks went still redder. "My father's got plenty of
money," she began fiercely. Here the baby interrupted.

"Baby love pritty--Baby love--" she held out two beseeching dimpled
hands toward the red balloon.

"Patience, you can't have it," cried Lydia. "It--it'll make your tummy
ache. I'll buy you one when you're older."

The black-eyed child, holding the red balloon, suddenly kissed little
Patience, who was the pet of all the children in the neighborhood, and
put the string of her balloon into the dimpled hand. "I had the
circus--you can have the balloon," she said.

Lydia jerked the string away and held it out to the owner.

"We're no cheerity charities, Margery," she said. "I'll get Patience a
balloon."

"You're an awful liar and a cruel beast, Lydia!" cried Margery. She
snatched the string and tied it about the baby's wrist. "You know you
can't buy her one and you know she'll cry herself sick for one, now
she's seen mine, and I guess I love her as much as you do."