enough to know that your father isn't made of money." Indeed, he was not, what with the price of things going up like runaway horses and salaries only crawling along!
"Why can't we have a motor-car?" Sara inquired.
"Because we can't afford it."
"What does 'afford it' mean?"
"You know what afford it means!"
Sara fixed her large eyes on her mother. She shook her red head to and fro as if it were a dinner bell that she was ringing.
"Honest and truly, cross my heart, hope to die, I don't!" she announced.
"It means we haven't money enough. We're poor."
"Oh, no, we're not; Poor people don't have parlors—they don't keep a girl—they can go barefoot. They can get as dirty as dirty—they don't never have to have baths. But, of course, sometimes they don't get enough to eat. They do get enough to eat, though, don't they?" Sara's voice was piteous. "And oh, they work! Everybody works—the children work—they make money. Poor children chew gum. Poor children eat penny candies—fierce red or green penny candies. They catch rides. They sell pond lilies at back doors, and cooks give them cookies. They don't go to school until they're as old as old, and then they go just as little as little." Evidently the joys of poverty rated higher in Sara's mind than its drawbacks, now that she came to think of it. "They can play with Ginnys!"
"Hush, Sara!" Alice felt that her reason was rapidly decaying. "Stop, Sara!"
"Ginnys, yes," said Sara. "Why," she now demanded, "has Ginny Tom's poppa got a motor-car when my poppa hasn't?"
"You mustn't say Ginny," Alice admonished.
"Robert don't say Ginny, he says 'Wop.' And how
