At last, cautiously, stopping to look, to listen, slinking into doorways if any came along, slipping far outside every knot of roistering or quarreling men, so small and dark herself as to seem only a part of the shadows, she came out upon the broader street that led into a square. Down a cross-street she saw the lights of a street-car flash along. It was going somewhere—away from this. She walked backward to make sure no one watched while she got out one of her silver pieces, then turned and ran swiftly, noiselessly.
A car, coming along at that moment, was stopping for someone to get off; and she clambered up the steps in the instant, disposed herself and the baby at one end of the seat, and held out her silver piece to the conductor as if she rode in cars every day of her life, although disturbed by his sharp glance.
The motion of the car was delightful. It soothed the baby off to sleep; and the wind of its movement was so refreshing that she could have gone to sleep herself. She passed the time wishing the car was never going to stop, and hearing the wheels sing over and over to some tune of the alleys: “She’ll never go back no more. She’ll never go back no more.”
She was in a happy land between dreaming and waking, when the car came to a stop, and a rude voice called, “End er the line!”
It filled her with consternation for a moment. Far off a church bell struck. It seemed an act of Providence that the car in waiting just beyond was starting for somewhere farther on, and she ran again and climbed aboard.
She had no idea where she was going; but it was into distance, away from the city, on and on.
She crept out when by and by the car turned into its stable; and after strolling on a bit farther, she lay down on a piece of grass and went so sound asleep in the warm night that she did not even hear the baby cry.