Out of the mother's mouth poured a volley of horrible words, like a hailstorm of hell.
Desire fell back, as from a blinding shock of she knew not what.
Luclarion came round the counter, quite calmly.
"Ma'am," she said, "those words won't hurt _her_. She don't know the language. But you've got God's daily bread in your hand; how can you talk devil's Dutch over it?"
The woman glared at her. But she saw nothing but strong, calm, earnest asking in the face; the asking of God's own pity.
She rebelled against that, sullenly; but she spoke no more foul words. I think she could as soon have spoken them in the face of Christ; for it was the Christ in Luclarion Grapp that looked out at her.
"You needn't preach. You can order me out of your shop, if you like. I don't care."
"I don't order you out. I'd rather you would come again. I don't think you will bring that street-muck with you, though."
There was both confidence and command in the word like the "Neither do I condemn thee: go, and sin no more." It detached the street-muck from the woman. It was not _she_; it was defilement she had picked up, when perhaps she could not help it. She could scrape her shoes at the door, and come in clean.
"You know a darned lot about it, I suppose!" were the last words of defiance; softened down, however, you perceive, to that which can be printed.
Desire was pale, with a dry sob in her throat, when the woman had gone and Luclarion turned round.
"The angels in heaven know; why shouldn't you?" said Luclarion. "That's what we've got to help."
A child came in afterwards, alone; with an actual clean spot in the middle of her face, where a ginger-nut or an acid drop might go in. This was a regular customer of a week past. The week had made that clean spot; with a few pleasant and encouraging hints from Luclarion, administered along with the gingerbread.
The round mouth and eyes, with expectation in them, were like a spot of green to Hazel, feeling with her witch-wand for a human spring. But she spoke to Desire, looking cunningly at the child.
The girl's head pricked itself up quickly.
"We've got a swing up-stairs," said Hazel, passing close by, and just pausing. "A new one. I guess it goes pretty high; and it looks out of top windows. Wouldn't you like to come and see?"