Bessie was the first to collect herself enough to make the story understood, though even then, her tears would hardly let her speak to the group of curious and sympathizing people, who gathered around the three as they clung weeping together.
“And now we’re quite, quite lost; and there’s no policeman to help us,” she sobbed; “and what will mamma do?”
“Poor little dears,” said a lady, pressing forward, and laying her hand soothingly on the little, pitiful, upturned face. “Don’t cry so, my children: you’ll be taken back in some way to your parents.”
“I’m all papa has,” gasped Belle: “he can’t do wifout me.”
“Please let us get out,” moaned Maggie: “we could run back to where our papa and mamma are.”
“The train must be put back,” said one of the by-standers, and he went to find the conductor, and see what could be done; while the lady who had spoken to the children sat down beside them and tried to quiet them with assurances that their parents would certainly find them again.
“But dear mamma will be so frightened and worried, and it’s so bad for her,” said Bessie; her first thought always that tender care for her mother.
The story had spread through the train; and people were coming in from the other cars to look at the three little waifs, who, all by themselves, were each instant being taken farther from their friends; and Belle, looking up as the door was opened afresh, spied a familiar object.
“Oh! there’s the ‘bad hat’ man!” she cried, glad to see any thing on which she had ever laid her eyes before, even though it might be that ugly hat with the strange face beneath it.