So Bill had been turned out, and now sat with his feet in a delightful puddle, reflecting for a minute or two on dead babies, injustice, puddles, and other things. It was a larger puddle, as far as Bill could see, than any other in the street, and it was this which made it so charming. But a puddle is of no use to any one who has not got something to float on it. If you have something to float on it you can imagine boats, and races, and storms, and it becomes a magnificent playground for the imagination; otherwise the biggest puddle is simply a puddle, and it is nothing more. So Bill started down the street to look for something which would float, a scrap of paper or a straw. He was stopped by a lanky unkempt girl with yellow hair, who was leaning on a broom that was almost bald, outside an open door. She was four or five years older than Bill, and she was very fond of him. The girls of the wretched neighbourhood for the most part rather petted Bill; they did so, without knowing their reason, because he was quaint, and pretty, and little. He was rather dirty it was true, but then so were they; and for the most part they were not so pretty. “Bill,” said the yellow-haired girl, “why awnt yer at school? You’ll ketch it, Bill.” “No, I ’ont. They kep’ me, ’cos we’ve got a byeby, an’ the byeby’s dead. Then they tunned me out for breakin’ a saucer when I was goin’ after Siming Peter what I were feedin’, an’ I ain’t to ’ave no dinner, and I ain’t to come back afore night, and when I do come back I’m goin’ to be walloped. I wish I was dead!” “Oh, Bill, you _are_ a bad boy; what are yer goin’ to do?” “Play ships at that puddle. I was lookin’ for sutthin’ what ’ud do for ships, an’ can’t find nothin’.” “An’ what’ll yer do about dinner?” “I ain’t goin’ to ’ave no dinner,” said Bill, solemnly, “I’m goin’ to starve. They don’t keer. Dead byebies is what _they_ like.” The lanky girl leaned her broom against the wall, sat down on the doorstep, and commenced the research of a pocket; the pocket yielded her one penny. “Look ’ere, Bill,” she said, “you take this and git yourself sutthin’ to eat.” Bill shook his head, and pressed his lips together. He was much moved. “I ’ad it give me a week ago, and I sived it ’cos there warn’t nothin’ what I wanted. So you take it. I don’t want it. If yer like, yer can give us a kiss for it.” She pressed it into his hand. “There ain’t no other little boy I know what I’d give it to,” she added rather inconsistently. Bill nodded his head, and the lips grew a little tremulous. He had been treated cruelly all the morning, and this sudden change to sympathy and generosity was almost too much for him. He kissed the yellow-haired girl--once timidly and then suddenly with great affection. “Why, Bill,” she said, “I ain’t done nothin’ to ’urt yer, yer look ommust as if yer was goin’ to cry.” “No, I ain’t,” replied Bill, finding words with difficulty, “but--but I ’ate ev’rybody in the world ’cep’ you.”