Poor Rose! the thought that she was to be forever separated from her kind friend, Miss Manning, smote her with a sharp sorrow, and she began to cry bitterly.
"Stop your whimpering," said Martin, roughly, "or I'll give you something to cry about."
But, even with this threat hanging over her, Rose could not check the flow of her tears. Those persons whom they met looked with sympathy at the pretty little girl, who was roughly pulled along by the red-faced, rough-looking man; and more than one would have been glad to interfere if he had felt authorized to do so.
James Martin did not relish the public attention drawn to them by Rose's tears, for he knew instinctively that the sympathy would be with her, and not with himself. As soon as possible he got the child on board a horse-car bound for the South Ferry. This was something of an improvement, for he was no longer obliged to drag her along. But even in the cars her tears continued to flow.
"What's the matter with your little girl?" asked a kind, motherly-looking woman, who had a daughter at home about Rose's age, and whose sympathies were therefore more readily excited by the appearance of distress in the child's face.
"She's been behaving badly, ma'am," said Martin.
"She doesn't look like a bad child," said the good woman, kindly.
"You can't tell by her looks," said Martin. "Maybe you'd think, to look at her, that she was one of the best children out; but she's very troublesome."
"I'm sorry to hear that. You should try to be good, my dear," said the woman, gently.
Rose didn't reply, but continued to shed tears.