"Ho, ho, I think we are coming at it," said the sergeant. "What hotel is that?"
"Why, the hotel where the colonel lives," said Bessie, as if there could be but one hotel and one colonel. "I thought mamma would not like me to go home by myself, and I asked that other policeman whom I did not know to take me over, so I could go ask the colonel to send me home. But he was out, and a woman scolded me, and so I went away, and the crossing wouldn't come, and the boys were naughty and yude, and Flossy's gone—oh, dear! oh, dear! I do want my own house and my own mamma; and everybody said naughty things about mamma."
"There, then, don't cry any more," said the policeman. "I think that must be the hotel, and you can't tell me what street you live in?"
"Why, yes, I can," said Bessie, who quite forgot that she had not been able to tell where she lived while she had been so frightened. "I live in papa's house in —— Street, Number ——, and I want to go home so much."
"So you shall, right off, now that you have told me where you belong," said the policeman. "I'll send, and see if you are right."
But just as he turned to speak to one of the men, an open carriage drove quickly to the door. Bessie looked around, then gave a scream of joy.
"Oh, it's my soldier, my own dear soldier! He came and found me—oh, he did, he did!"
In less time than it would have been thought possible, the colonel had been helped out, and was within the room. Bessie almost sprang out of the policeman's arms, and clung about the colonel's neck, while he, dropping one crutch, steadied himself on the other, and held her fast with the arm that was free. It was touching to see, as, half laughing, half crying, she poured out broken words of love and joy, now covering his face with kisses, now burying her own on his shoulder, then lifting it again to lay her soft cheek to his and pat it with her tiny hand. Colonel Rush was almost as much overjoyed as she, but he was in haste to carry the recovered treasure to her anxious mother. Nor was Bessie in less haste to be at home; but for all that, she did not forget to speak her thanks to those who had been kind to her, going from one to another, and shaking hands with them in her own polite little way. The sergeant carried her out and put her in the carriage.
"Good-by," she said, giving him her hand, "I am very much obliged to you for letting me come in your nice station-house, and for speaking so kind to me."
"Bless your heart," said the man, "if it wasn't for your own sake, I'd be sorry enough to part with you. Now don't you go and lose yourself again."