"I am going to the top of the stairs with the children," said Mrs. Moore, preparing to step out of the carriage. "I want to inquire about the baby, who is sick. I'll be back in a moment, Elise."
As the carriage door closed behind her she spoke to the coachman. "Wait here a moment, Dickson." The man on the box touched his hat and then turned his fur collar higher around his ears. There was a cold wind whistling through the alley. Elise pressed her face against the glass and looked out into the wintry street. Mrs. Moore's moment stretched out into five. The baby up-stairs was worse, and she was making a list of the many things it needed for its comfort.
There was little of interest to watch from the carriage window. Few people were passing along the narrow pavement, and Elise wondered impatiently why Mrs. Moore did not come. Presently, down the street came a ragged child with its arm held up over its eyes, sobbing and sniffling as it shuffled along in a pair of wornout shoes many sizes too large for its little feet.
Elise's heart gave a great thump, and she started forward eagerly.
"Molly's little lost sister!" she exclaimed aloud. "It must be, for she looks just like the girl in the picture. Oh, I must call her!"
She was fumbling at the knob of the carriage door, but before she could get it open, the child turned and started up the dirty alley, still sobbing aloud, with her arm over her face.
"Oh, I must call her back," thought Elise. "Everybody will be so glad if she is found. I mustn't let her get away."
It took all her strength to turn the knob, but with another desperate wrench she got the door open, and climbed out to the pavement. The coachman, half asleep in his great fur collar and heavy lap-robes, did not hear the tap of the little pink boots, as she ran up the dark alley between the high, rickety buildings, with their bad smells and dirty sewers.
"Oh, she is going so fast!" panted Elise. "I'll never catch up with her!" The pretty pink boots were wet and snowy now, the silk stockings splashed with muddy water. Her big velvet hat was tipped over one eye and her curls were blowing in tangles over the wide collar of her fur-trimmed cloak. But forgetting all about her fine feathers, she ran on, around corners, into strange passages, across unfamiliar streets, following the flutter of a tattered gown. All of a sudden she paused, looking around in bewilderment. The child she was following had disappeared.