A Little Maid of Ticonderoga

								

crutch, was the queerest little figure she had ever imagined. A little
girl whose black hair straggled over her forehead, and whose big dark
eyes had a half-frightened expression, stood staring in at the
pleasant room. An old ragged shawl was pinned about her shoulders, and
beneath it Faith could see the frayed worn skirt of gray homespun. But
on her feet were a pair of fine leather shoes, well fitting and highly
polished.
"I brought your shoes," said this untidy visitor, swinging herself a
step forward nearer to Faith, and holding out a bundle. "Father
doesn't know I've come," she added, with a little smile of
satisfaction. "But I wanted to see you."
"Won't you sit down?" said Faith politely, pulling forward a big
cushioned chair.
Louise Trent sat down as if hardly knowing if she dared trust the
chair or not.
"Your aunt didn't let you come to see me, did she? I knew she
wouldn't," continued Louise. "What you got?" she questioned, looking
at the pretty cap with admiring eyes.
"It's new. And I never had one before," answered Faith.
"Well, I've never had one, and I never shall have. You wouldn't let me
try that one on, would you?" said Louise, looking at Faith with such a
longing expression in her dark eyes that Faith did not hesitate for a
moment.
"Of course I will," she answered quickly, and taking off the cap
placed it carefully on Louise's untidy black hair.
"If your hair was brushed back it would look nice on you," declared
Faith. "You wait, and I'll get my brush and fix your hair," and before
Louise could reply Faith was running up the stairs. She was back in a
moment with brush and comb, and Louise submitted to having her hair
put in order, and tied back with one of the new hair ribbons that Aunt
Prissy had given Faith. While Faith was thus occupied Louise looked
about the sitting-room, and asked questions.
"There," said Faith. "Now it looks nice on you. But what makes you
wear that old shawl?"
Louise's face clouded, and she raised her crutch as if to strike
Faith. "Don't you make fun of me. I have to wear it. I don't have
nothing like other girls," she exclaimed, and dropping the crutch, she
turned her face against the arm of the chair and began to sob
bitterly.
For a moment Faith looked at her in amazement, and then she knelt down
beside the big chair and began patting the shoulder under the ragged
shawl.
"Don't cry, Louise. Don't cry. Listen, I'll ask my aunt to make you a
cap just like mine. I know she will."
"No. She wouldn't want me to have a cap like yours," declared Louise.
"Isn't your father good to you?" questioned Faith. And this question
made Louise sit up straight and wipe her eyes on the corner of the old
shawl.
"Good to me! Of course he is. Didn't he make me these fine shoes?" she
answered, pointing to her feet. "But how could he make me a pretty
cap or a dress? And he doesn't want to ask anybody. But you needn't