Aunt Dorothy at that moment entered the hall, but, before she had time to speak the little waif thrust a piece of paper into, her hand, with the simple explanation, "Dick writ it."
Aunt Dorothy took the crumpled note and unfolded it carefully. After a few minutes she managed to read the scrawling letters:
"This little girl ain't got no folks and no place to stay; so she's been staying in a box with straw in it with me nights. I've fetched her to be your valentine. She's hungry.
"Dick."
Aunt Dorothy's eyes filled with tears. "Mary, take the child into the kitchen and give her something to eat. I will come presently and perhaps I can find out what is the best thing to do."
Mary led her down the hall.
"A valentine!" she ejaculated. "Blest if I don't think this is the queerest piece of business I ever seen!" Her manner softened a little as she watched the greediness with which the child devoured the big slice of bread and butter, and when Aunt Dorothy came down she found her "valentine" seated in Mary's own rocking chair before the fire, while Mary herself, down on the floor, had the almost frozen feet in her lap.
Aunt Dorothy sat down near them and watched Mary for a few minutes in silence. "Now that you feel better, my child, tell me where you live?"
"I don't live nowhere," answered the child, "'cept with Dick—he's got a big box with straw in it. I crawled in one night after they took father away—the police, you know."
Aunt Dorothy sighed, "Give her a warm bath, Mary, and make a bed on the lounge in my room. I will try to find something which will do for a nightdress."