“I think we’re out of the worst of it,” he cried in Margaret’s ear. “If we keep to the right, we’ll go through only the edge of the town.” Even as he spoke, the way cleared more and more before them, and the houses grew farther apart.
The town was almost behind them, and their speed had considerably lessened, when Margaret gave a scream of horror. Almost instantly Brandon brought the car to a stop and leaped to the ground. Close by one of the big-rimmed wheels lay a huddled little heap of soiled and ragged pink calico; but before Brandon could reach it, the heap stirred, and lifted itself. From beneath a tangled thatch of brown curls looked out two big brown eyes.
“I reckon mebbe I felled down,” said a cheery voice that yet sounded a little dazed. “I reckon I did.”
“Good heavens, baby, I reckon you did!” breathed the man in glad relief. “And you may thank your lucky stars ’twas no worse.”
“T’ank lucky stars. What are lucky stars?” demanded the small girl, interestedly.
“Eh? Oh, lucky stars—why, they’re—what are lucky stars, Miss Kendall?”
Margaret did not answer. She did not seem to hear. With eyes that carried a fascinated terror in their blue depths, she was looking at the dirty little feet and the ragged dress of the child before her.
“T’ank lucky stars,” murmured the little girl again, putting out a cautious finger and just touching the fat rubber tire of the wheel that had almost crushed out her life.
Brandon shuddered involuntarily and drew the child away.
“What’s your name, little girl?” he asked gently.