I was the one who spoke. I had been feeling pretty bad for sometime; but now I couldn't stand it any longer. To see dear little brother Dick go out into the world alone! Never to have any brother any more! I threw my arms about him from the other side of the hobby-horse.
"Dick," I cried, tearfully. "Oh, please, Dick, don't go away! Take me with you, won't you, Dick?"
"Will you go, too, sister?" Dick demanded, eagerly.
I nodded at him.
"We won't never come back," he cautioned.
I stole a look down the hall, the dear, familiar hall.
"All right, Dick," I said, with a gulp.
Nobody noticed us as we slipped down the path to the Green Door, not even Norah, who was singing in the kitchen. The hinges squeaked, and the gate came open with a rumble. It almost seemed as if my mother must know! We pulled it to behind us in a hurry, and stepped out into the world. We held each other tight.
It was very different on the other side of the wall from our side. There were no flowers there, and no vines. There was a street with small, mean houses, and great piles of clam shells, and a goat or two running about at a distance, and some very dirty ducks going home in single file. Away down the square there was a great red building, with smoke pouring out of its many chimneys, and here and there walking about the street, and standing at the doors, were the black people—not black in any true sense of the word, but grimed with the smut of those who labor in iron works.
It was a dreadful place. We stood outside the gate, flattened against the fence, looking into the street, and afraid to venture any farther.