"I don't know, Her little boy was sick at the hospital, and I sung—"
"Oh, that one! Mis' Marvin Leonard it is. Well, they'd ought to given you some money, too—they've got enough. I read in the paper about your singin'—and faintin' away."
"In the newspaper?" Polly's face showed her astonishment.
"Sure! Did n't you know it? I should think some o' them doctors or nurses might have let you see the piece. And they'd ought to had your picture taken to go along with it."
"Oh, no!" breathed Polly shrinkingly.
"Huh! You're a great kid! Folks round here thought it was a pretty smart thing. You hain't no call to be ashamed of it."
The little girl attempted no reply. She felt that Aunt Jane would not understand.
Arrived on the fourth floor of the big tenement house, Polly was at once called upon to praise the new quarters.
"Ain't this more swell than that old-fashioned rent on Brewery Street?"
"Yes, I guess it is," was the rather doubtful response, for Poly, in her swift survey of the narrow, gaudy parlor, discerned little to admire.