Owen said good-by in a boy’s awkward fashion, and gave her the bag. Patsey was reluctant, and he turned slowly away.
“Good-by, Dil, dear,” he said again with deep tenderness as he stooped to kiss her. He was so much taller, though only a few months older. And always Patsey Muldoon was glad he came back for that kiss.
Then Miss Lawrence bought tickets and ushered her small procession, nine of them now, through the narrow way and out on the boat. They huddled together at first like a flock of sheep. Dil noticed one little hump-backed girl, who had large, light eyes and golden hair in ringlets. She was not like Bess, and yet she moved Dil’s sympathetic heart. Had a drunken father “hurted her”?
She felt shy of the others, they all seemed in such spirits. As they were going off the boat, she drew nearer the unfortunate child and longed to speak.
An impudent leer crossed the other face.
“Who yer lookin’ at? Mind yer own biz. I’m jes’ as good as youse!” was the unexpected salutation.
“Yes,” answered Dil meekly, her enthusiastic pity quenched.
Dil’s seat was in the window end, and her companion a stolid little German with two flaxen tails down her back. So she sat quite still. The morning had been so full of excitement she could hardly think. She had been just whirled about, pushed into the adventure.
But the “little mothers” interested her. Did they like babies, she wondered? Did their arms ache, and were their backs strained and tired carrying them about? Most of them were thin and weary looking, yet they were in gay spirits, making little jokes and giving quick, slangy answers, ready to laugh at anything.