“I’m lost. I can’t find my way home.”
“Where is home?”
“Arch Street.”
“Come on. We’ll find it. It’s bad to be lost. Where have you been?”
“Oh, I can’t tell all the places,” sobbingly.
They entered the park. Even that was large enough to get lost in. It grew darker and darker and there was a sprinkle of rain. Jack held tight to the man’s hand, and it seemed as if the park was full of bears. He was so frightened. They came to one of the entrances.
“Now you keep straight on and you will come to Arch Street. Good-bye little lad. It’s raining quite fast. Hook it along.”
Jack did run. Houses began to look familiar.
Yes, here was his own street. Oh, how glad he was. He almost flew. And his father ran down the steps and caught his little wet boy in his arms.
“Oh, Jack! Jack! Amy,” he cried through the open hall door, “he’s here! he’s here!” 51