What Hannah would say was never recorded, for just at this moment a dirty hand thrust itself over Priscilla’s shoulder and snatched her precious baby from her arms, while a hoarse voice broke out into a jeering laugh that almost frightened the children out of their wits.
“Hi, there!” it cried roughly. “A doll’s relation! That’s good! The name of Polly is a ’stremely nice name! Bless me if it ain’t!”
Priscilla’s lips were blue with terror and she but dimly saw the face of the mischievous newsboy, as he leered wickedly at her darling doll, pretending to dance it up and down in his dirty hands.
But Polly’s eyes were blazing. “Give that doll back this minute!” she broke out in a tremor of indignation.
The newsboy looked at her and grinned. “Oh, say, now,” he cried. “Who’ll make me? Ain’t I fond o’ dolls meself? An’ ain’t I got a little sister at home as just dotes on ’em? W’y, my little sister—queer now, ain’t it, but her name’s Polly! a ’stremely nice name, Polly is! well my sister Polly will just be tickled out of her boots when I bring her this.”
“You give it back,” stammered Polly, breathless and panting with anger.
“Not on your life,” jeered the young rascal, delighted to see he was teasing her so successfully, and clutching the rag-doll more tightly in one arm while he shifted his bundle of papers in the other.
Polly darted at him; her hand swung out, and the next moment his ear was tingling from a well-aimed blow. For an instant he was too amazed to stir. Then he dropped his papers and the doll together and made a dash for Polly. She ducked, he tripped on the shallow door-step and lost his footing. It was Polly’s chance and she did not lose it. In a twinkling she had dived for his papers, caught them up and was flying down the street as fast as her swift feet would carry her.
“Go in,” she shouted back to Priscilla. “Go in to Hannah!” Then on she sped like a little whirlwind, the newsboy after her in hot pursuit.
She knew he must outstrip her in a very few moments, for he was far older and stronger than she. Her breath was already coming in painful gasps and she felt she could not hold out much longer with the wind blowing against her like this. He was rapidly gaining. She could hear the clatter of his heavy boots on the pavement. In a second more he would have clutched her. Her brain worked like lightning. She snatched a paper from the bunch in her arm and flung it into the teeth of the wind, not daring to pause long enough to look back to see if her pursuer had stopped to capture it. She dropped another and another, all the while making toward home, as fast as she could fly. At length she had only one left, but she was in sight of the house and Priscilla’s tormentor was a full block behind. She flung the last one back with a great sob of relief and then paused a second to catch her breath and look behind her. The wind carried the paper straight into the young rascal’s face. He caught it and hurried on without losing a second. Polly’s heart almost stopped beating. It seemed to her as if her feet had grown suddenly heavy as lead. If she could only reach home! But she heard those heavy boots stamping nearer and nearer. Lagging and panting she reached the house and began to crawl and stumble up the steps scrambling on all fours, like a baby. The fellow was close at hand. He could leap the flight, two steps at a time she knew. She reached the top just as he sprung to the bottom. Her strength served her to touch the bell. It faintly rang—but too faintly to bring James if he did not happen to be right there. On the instant, however, the door opened and to the butler’s amazement Polly stumbled blindly over the threshold and pitched headlong into the hall.