Little Story Wants Readers

@anyone and everyone So, this is a little snippet I wrote and wondering if it makes any sense. Just like my grammar right there.

“She’s Miss Blessing to you, warthog. And she ain’t old. Maybe thirty. At the most.” James scowled and tossed his sopping hair out of his eyes with a flick of his head.

“Hey!” Removing his glasses, Rufus wiped the waterdrops off and placed his glasses back on his freckled face with an air of indignation. “I didn’t get a good look at ‘er. I just thought she was some old widow.”

“Well, she ain’t. Never been married in ‘er life.”

“Then why’s she wearin’ black?”

“You’ll just hafta ask ‘er that yourself.” James huddled farther under the eaves of the bakery. “I’m already soaked through. You might as well get yourself a little wet.”

Rufus glanced nervously across the street. Puddles collected in between the cobblestones, overshadowed by the weeping stormclouds. There was Miss Blessing, her black umbrella gallantly shielding her black feathered bonnet as she strode past warmly-lit shops and through pools of light cast by lampposts. Clutching the umbrella with both hands, she didn’t even bother to lift her skirts in an attempt to keep them dry. They simply dragged through the puddles behind her.

“What, you scared of her?” James taunted. “I’ve talked to her plenty of times. Go on.”

Gulping, Rufus stepped hesitantly into the street, then shrieked and ran across the cobblestones as the freezing raindrops splashed over his head.

Miss Blessing stopped and watched his mad dash toward her. “What an odd child,” she muttered to herself.

Rufus skidded to a stop in front of her. For a moment, he just stood there, gazing up at the strange woman.

“Hello, child.” Miss Blessing raised her eyebrows. “Cat gotcha tongue?”

Blinking, Rufus removed his glasses once more. “Evenin’, Miss Blessing. Who’s died?”

Miss Blessing tilted her head and frowned. “No one’s died, child. A’ least no one I know. Have we met?”

“Oh, no, Miss Blessing. My friend knows you and told me to ask you a question.” Rufus pulled a waterlogged handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his glasses with it.

“Ah, I see. He wanted to know who died?”

“No, Miss Blessing. He just wouldn’t answer my question hisself.”

“So you wanted to know who died?”

“No, Miss Blessing. I’ve a different question.”

“And what question would that be?” A smile creeped across Miss Blessing’s face. This child certainly had a knack for beating around the bush.

“Well, Miss Blessing, why do you wear black?” Rufus put his glasses back on and blinked when he saw even more water on them than before.

Miss Blessing knelt down, her skirts draped through the puddles. “Because,” she said softly, “blessings are only noticed when they’re in black.”