Chapter 8: Planning the Bazaar

Brenda at the dinner-table that evening had much to say about the expedition of the afternoon. Or rather, she had much to tell about Manuel and his cunning little ways, about his mother and the poverty of the family and what she intended to do for them. Her mother smiled, her father looked interested and said,

“Well, I’m glad that you have found a use for your pocket money. I won’t begrudge it to you as long as it does not all go into Schuyler’s candy.”

Julia cried, “Oh, Brenda, how I should love to have gone with you,” when Brenda spoke of the old church and the old streets. “Do tell just what the church was like.”

But Brenda’s ideas were less definite on these points. She wasn’t exactly sure what Paul Revere had done—for history was not her strong point—and she was a little annoyed at Julia’s surprise at her lack of interest. Julia did not mean to show any surprise, but it did seem strange to hear Brenda say rather impatiently in answer to a question about the church,

“Oh, well, it was a brown church, —no, I think it was gray, with a steeple, but I didn’t notice much. Nora quoted some poetry, but I was in a hurry to go on to see Manuel, and I think that it’s very tiresome to have to dig up history and things like that out of school.”

Mr. Barlow frowned at this. “Before you go to the North End again I hope you will have your history and your Longfellow fresh in mind. It is rather a shame for a Boston girl to be ignorant of historic places in her own city.”

“Julia must go with you next time,” said Mrs. Barlow, wishing to divert the conversation from Brenda’s shortcomings.

“You’ll let me know, won’t you,” interposed Julia pleasantly, and Brenda gave a careless “Yes” as she turned to her father and said,

“Oh, papa, I wish that you would let me buy a carpet and a lot of things for Manuel’s mother. You have no idea how poor they seem. Do give me the money, that’s a dear. You never will miss it in the world.”

“How much, Brenda, does your modesty lead you to think you need?” asked Mr. Barlow.

“Oh, I don’t know,” answered Brenda, whose ideas of the value of money were very vague indeed. “You might let me buy the things and have them charged.”

“Dear me! that would be worse than giving you the money—worse for my pocket. I suppose you’d want to do your shopping in some really fashionable Boylston Street establishment?”

“Now, papa, you’re laughing at me!”

“Perhaps I am,” replied her father. “But really, Brenda, I don’t believe that Manuel’s mother would thank you for a carpet. Didn’t you say they all lived in one room? A bare floor is easier to keep clean.”

“Oh, well, I must buy them something, and my pocket money won’t go far. Besides, I’ve spent all you gave me this month.”

“Well, Manuel and his mother and all those brothers and sisters have lived in Boston very comfortably for several years without any help from you. If you should give them a carpet they might grow discontented. The next thing they would want might be a piano, and from what you say I hardly think that room would hold a piano as well as the whole family and the cook-stove.”