Betsy paused here, meditated a moment, and went in rapidly so that her
courage would not evaporate.
The woman with gray hair looked down at her a little impatiently and
said, "Dinner's all over."
"I didn't come for dinner," said Betsy, swallowing hard. "I came to see
if you wouldn't hire me to wash your dishes. I'll do them for twenty-
five cents."
The woman laughed, looked from little Betsy to the great pile of dishes,
and said, turning away, "Mercy, child, if you washed from now till
morning, you wouldn't make a hole in what we've got to do."
Betsy heard her say to the other women, "Some young one wanting more
money for the side-shows."
Now, now was the moment to remember what Cousin Ann would have done. She
would certainly not have shaken all over with hurt feelings nor have
allowed the tears to come stingingly to her eyes. So Betsy sternly made
herself stop doing these things. And Cousin Ann wouldn't have given way
to the dreadful sinking feeling of utter discouragement, but would have
gone right on to the next place. So, although Betsy felt like nothing so
much as crooking her elbow over her face and crying as hard as she could
cry, she stiffened her back, took Molly's hand again, and stepped out,
heart-sick within but very steady (although rather pale) without.
She and Molly walked along in the crowd again, Molly laughing and
pointing out the pranks and antics of the young people, who were feeling
livelier than ever as the afternoon wore on.
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