“Humph!” was the contemptuous comment, and the little girl said no more.
Oh! if they would only ever get to 97 Dingy street! Twice, now, she had been allowed the luxury of a carriage ride and each time how wretched she had been. At first she had liked Bonny-Gay’s father almost as much as she had the Gray Gentleman, when she first knew that good friend. She had chattered away to him almost as freely; yet after awhile he had allowed her to keep up the chatter rather for his own information than because he had seemed interested in her affairs. He was now become so stern and indifferent that she realized she had deeply offended him. To her relief, the cab turned sharply around the next corner and there she was, at last, in dear, familiar Dingy street, with its tiny houses that were yet homes; in one of which was mother Bump, her four sisters, and the wonderful baby! Possibly, also, her father; though of him she thought less, just then, than of the motherly face which was, to her, the comeliest in all the world.
The cab stopped with a jerk. The cabman leaped down and opened the door. Then he lifted out the covered basket, and afterward swung Mary Jane to the ground and supported her till the gentleman who remained inside the vehicle handed out her crutches.
The house door flew open, also, at the sound of wheels, and Mrs. Bump peered out into the night.
“What is it?” she called, her voice trembling with anxiety. That a carriage should stop before her humble home foreboded harm to some of her loved ones, and her first thought was of her crippled daughter.
“Here am I, Mother! Home at last;” answered that daughter’s voice, cheerily.
Then she turned to thank Mr. McClure for his kindness to her, but he did not hear her, apparently. The cab was already being whirled around, and the driver lashing his horses. A brilliant gleam of lightning, followed instantly by a terrific clap of thunder, startled them into a thought of shelter only. Mrs. Bump saw through the cab window that the gentleman raised his hat, then she seized the basket from the ground, and hurried Mary Jane indoors, just as the first great drops of a heavy shower came dashing down.
“Oh! mother Bump! I never saw such a lovely place as this dear old home! How glad I am to be here. Has father come yet?”
“Not yet, dearie. But he will soon, no doubt.”
“I hope he isn’t anywhere out in this storm; poor father.”