Hop-clover’s mother, who _wasn’t_ her mother, had run away; and sometimes the man she called father didn’t come home all night, and poor Hop-clover had to go to the neighbors’ houses to sleep: but she was a happy child, for all that, and still said to Posy, with a smile, “God will take care o’ _me_!” Her own mother had told her so, and she always believed it.
“Pollio, my son,” said Judge Pitcher one morning. Pollio came hobbling along, with a mallet under his arm for a make-believe crutch. He and Posy were playing croquet.
“Will you run to the ‘little woman’s’ store for me?”
The children called Miss Rounds “the little woman,” because she was small, and had a hump on her back.
“Come, Posy,” said Pollio, rushing for his hat.
“Wait a bit, my son. What are you going for?”
Pollio looked a little ashamed; but he always _was_ in such a hurry! He and Posy came back for the errand, and saw that their father was holding out his beautiful cream-colored meerschaum, with a lady’s head carved on the bowl. He wanted some tobacco.
“Well, darling, you needn’t go with brother unless you choose. But why don’t you want papa to smoke?”
“Come here, my love, and whisper it in my ear,” said her mother.
“So his mouth’ll be sweet to kiss, like Nunky’s,” whispered the little girl, with another blush.
“Dear papa! I wish you’d cure him of smoking. Will you try?” whispered mamma.
Posy looked up to see if she were in earnest.
“Yes, mamma, I’ll try,” said she gravely, and ran to join Pollio.
“Oh, you’ll see!” replied Posy, with an air of importance. “Let _me_ buy the tobacco.”
When they reached “the little woman’s” store, Posy walked up to the counter ahead of Pollio, and said with much decision, “If you please’m, we want the worst tobacco you’ve got.”
“The _worst_!” exclaimed she, looking along the row of glass boxes, and then back again at solemn Miss Posy. “Did your papa say so?”
“No’m; but we want to cure him of smoking.”
The little woman laughed, and the next time she saw the judge she told him about it.
“Well, well,” said he thoughtfully, “if my little daughter is taking me in hand, it is high time I tried to do better.”
He knew Posy did not like his pipe, and he began to think that was why Nunky got more of her kisses than he did. Dainty little Posy! The touch of her sweet, pure lips was very precious to her father.