“I didn’t mean no harm,” answered the girl, “I only telled ’bout what I loved. But did you do nothing since? Why you should ha’ done heaps and heaps—you should ha’ gone to the perlice, and put the young ’un inter the ‘Hue and Cry;’ you should ha’ done all that last night, Faith.”
“I don’t know wot h’ever you mean,” replied Faith; “how could we put our little Roy into a place when we don’t know wherever he is? We don’t want to put our little Roy anywhere, only jest to bring him home.”
The ragged girl laughed. “Yer rare and innercent,” she said; “I didn’t mean no place by the ‘Hue and Cry;’ I meant a paper. You should ha’ said what kind o’ looking child he wor—what wor the colour of his eyes, and his hair, and how big he wor, and what clothes ’e ’ad h’on—all that ’ud be printed and pasted up for folks to read; not that the talk about the clothes ’ud do much good, fur in course they’d be made away wid first thing.”
“His clothes ’ud be stole!” exclaimed Faith. “No, I don’t believe that; I don’t believe that any one ’ud be so dreadful wicked as to steal away little Roy’s clothes.”
“Then you don’t believe as nobody ha’ stole him away. Why, Faith, in course ef he wor not picked up and carried off by some one he’d be brought back afore now by the perleece—why in course yer little baby Roy is stole away.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Faith. She gazed hard at the girl by her side, every vestige of colour leaving her face, as the dreadful idea became clear to her. Presently a hand touched her rather softly.
“Look here, I’m a willin’ to help yer, I am, indeed; don’t ’ee go on so, Faithy—don’t ’ee now—my name’s Meg, and I’m a willing to help ye.”
“Oh, please, Meg,” answered little Faith, putting her hand into the older girl’s.
“It’s a bargain, then,” said Meg, squeezing the little hand very hard.
“I’ll never, never go home again till I find Roy,” said Faith solemnly.