"Cockroach pies! You don't mean to say?" cried Miss Hetty, nearly dropping her load in her horror at the idea, for she had heard of fricasseed frogs and roasted locusts, and thought a new delicacy had been found.
"We find 'em in the apple-sauce sometimes, and nails and bits of barrel in the cake, so some of us don't patronize Peck," replied Charley; and little Briggs the cripple added eagerly,—
"I never do; my mother won't let me."
"He never has any money, that's why," bawled Dickson, the fat boy, dodging behind the fence as he spoke.
"Never you mind, sonny, you come here every day, and I'll see that you have a good lunch. Apples too, red ones, if you like them, with your cake," answered Miss Hetty, patting his head and sending an indignant glance across the street.
"Cry-baby! Molly-coddle! Grandma's darling!" jeered Dickson, and then fled, for Charley fired a ball at him with such good aim it narrowly escaped his nose.
"That boy will have the jaundice as sure as fate,
