“No they don’t though,” replied Meg; “it comforts me a deal to think on it, fur they most sartin don’t. Ef they’re wot’s called lucky and don’t catch no ’fection, and don’t meet no h’accident, why then they may pull through; they lives then to be werry, werry skinny and ugly. Ugh! I shivers when I sees ’em; I says to myself, that’s me when I’m old. But, Faith, the chances ere h’all agen gals like me living to be old; let the least bit o’ ’fection come to a gal like me, or the werry smallest h’accident, so as I’d have ter be tuk to ’orspital, and then where am I? why, no where. You never, never seen a gal like me come h’out of ’orspital, Faithy.”
“But, Meg,” said little Faith, “why do you say it comforts you to think that?”
“Well, and so it do! Why, Faith, I’m no use down yere; no one wants me, and I h’an’t never a chance as far as this world goes, besides, besides,” and here Meg pressed her hand upon her beating heart, “besides, I ha’ a real hankering to see Him. Oh! to see wid my h’own, h’own eyes the lovely, lovely face o’ Jesus! and then perhaps arter a time He’d take a bit o’ notice of me and say, ‘Is that you, Meg? I know as you love me, Meg.’”
Faith was silent, too puzzled, too unlike Meg in her own frame of mind to make any reply, and after a time the two little girls went out. As they went down the street which led from the court to the more open thoroughfares, Meg said something which comforted her little companion greatly.
“I think, Faith,” she said, “as we’ll werry, werry soon now see little Roy; I think may be as we’ll find him to-night.”
“Oh Meg! oh! where?” asked Faith.
“I dunno, only I feel it. Jest you wait and see.”
As Meg said this the little girls turned a corner and came full upon the flaring light of one of the largest gin-palaces in the neighbourhood.
“Let’s cross over to it,” said Meg. “I allus do hanker fur light. Let’s get inter the brightness of it.”
She took Faith’s hand as she spoke and ran across, hastening her steps, for the sound of wheels approaching rapidly were heard.