"Oh," said the latter brightly, "you don't mean that! You are all together and are all well."
"Yes, there are a lot of us." And Amy said it with a sigh. "It seems as though there were an awful lot of children, now that father's dead."
"Did you lose your father recently—just as I did my mother?" asked Janice softly.
"Year and a half ago. That is why we came here, There was some insurance money. Somebody persuaded mother to buy a home for us with it. I don't know whether it was good advice or not; but she bought this place because it was cheap. And she could not pay for it all, at that; so I don't know but we're likely to lose the money she put into it, and the old shack, too."
Amy spoke rather bitterly. Janice, with natural tact, thought this was no time to probe deeper into the financial affairs of the Carringfords. She saw Gummy, who was a year older than Amy, in the yard. He had got home from school first, and he stared when he saw Janice.
"Hullo, Gummy!" the latter called to the boy with the patched trousers. "What are you doing there? Are you laying sod for a border to that garden-bed?"
"No. I'm trimming an opera cloak with green ermine," said the boy, but grinning. "What are you doing around here in Dirty-face Lane?"
"Oh, Gummy!" exclaimed Amy.
"What a name to call the street!" objected Janice.
"Well, that's what it is," returned the boy, continuing to pound the sod into place. "Nobody in this street ever washes his face."