"Miss Josie! Now I never!" exclaimed a respectably-dressed attendant, coming up, hot and breathless, from a gossip with an acquaintance. "As sure as I turn my eyes, you're in mischief. Talking to a dirty little street girl, coming from no one knows where."
"She's starving, nurse," said Josie.
"They're every man, woman, and child of them starving all the year round, if you'll believe them," said nurse contemptuously. "Miss Josie, come on this minute."
"I wish I had my penny," sighed Josie. "I do wish I hadn't bought that doll. Nurse, couldn't the little girl come home for my other penny—and wouldn't that buy her a roll, and keep her from starving?"
"No, indeed," said nurse wrathfully. "Telling strange beggar-children to come to our house, indeed! How d'ye know she isn't just getting over the scarlet fever, or small-pox, or anything else?"
"Are you, little girl?" asked Josie, in straightforward style.
"I ain't been ill—I'm only a-starving," said Ailie.
"Then you'd better go home and get your parents to feed you," said nurse. "Miss Josie, come on this minute."
"She hasn't got any parents—at least, one's dead and her mother's in prison," cried Josie, getting into a passion. "Nurse, do lend me a penny."
"I'm not going to encourage them beggars," said nurse resolutely. "Mother in prison! I dare say she is, and the child's likely enough to follow her there. Miss Josie, if you don't come on this moment—"