The boy stood staring miserably at the wall with eyes in which fear and hurt pride struggled for mastery.
"Yer Honor!" the policeman broke in. "It's three times lately I've found him sleepin' in doorways after midnight. Him and the gang is a bad lot, yer Honor, a scrappin' an' hoppin' freights an' swipin' junk, an' one thing an' another."
"I never swiped no junk," Dan said hopelessly, "I never swiped nothink in my life."
"Is there no definite charge against this boy?"
"Well, sir," said Mason, "he is always a-climbin' up the steeple of the cathedral."
Dan, sullen, frightened, and utterly unable to defend himself, looked from the officer to the janitor with the wide, distrustful eyes of a cornered coyote.
Suddenly a voice spoke out in his behalf, a shrill, protesting, passionate voice.
"He ain't no worser nor nobody else! Ast Mammy, ast Uncle Jed! He's got to sleep somewheres when his maw fergits to come home! Ever'body goes an' picks on Danny 'cause he ain't got nobody to take up fer him. 'T ain't fair!" Nance ended her tirade in a burst of tears.
"There, there," said the judge, "it's going to be fair this time. You stop crying now and tell me your name?"
"Nance Molloy," she gulped, wiping her eyes on her sleeve.