Marilla held tightly to Mrs. Warren’s hand. Dr. Richards was answering questions and a man seemed to verify them from books and papers. They had a corner to themselves. Then Marilla was questioned about the Home and her being bound-out and she had to declare she was the same little girl, that her mother and father were dead, that she had always lived at Newton.
Then some papers were signed and she was taken in a small room which was filled with tall cases and a great business desk where sat a sharp-eyed man. He wheeled around so suddenly that she started.
“Don’t be frightened,” he said. “Is Dr. Richards a relative? Do you live with him?”
“No, but he had been so good to her when Miss Armitage had taken her in so she need not go to the hospital. She had been bound-out but the family could not take care of her. Some one had just died.”
“Would she like Dr. Richards for her guardian? 256 Had any one told her she must have him?”
“Oh, I want him, I love him,” and the flood of eager joy in her sweet face answered him as truly as the words.
He was curiously interested and drew her out a little further, charmed with her simplicity.
Then Doctor Richards had to sign the bond and they were dismissed. Mrs. Warren would take her home, and her guardian would come in the afternoon and take dinner with them and meet Mr. Warren.
There were two trolley rides, then a walk from the corner. The house was in a brick row up on the East side with a little park opposite, and the river only a block away.
The basement windows had tall iron bars that suggested a prison to the child. They ascended the high stoop and the hall door was flung open while a chorus of eager voices cried—