“My name’s Maggie,” suggested the Little Mother.
“How did you know my name?” queried the lady, curiously.
“I heer’n Miss Selina—she’s our Flutey Bird, you know what owns this place—tell Uncle Ben that six more little gals was comin’ wid a Miss Martin.”
“Maybe you can tell me where to find Uncle Ben now?” asked the city lady eagerly.
“Yes’m! He’s beginnin’ a drill fer the boys. They has to grow to be fine scouts, brave policemen, and extry-brave firemen. You see we’se goin’ to have a regerler city-run camp here, and Uncle Ben says boys must know how to proteck folks and guard us against fires and udder bad t’ings,” explained Maggie.
“That’s fine! Where is the drill to take place? Maybe we can all go and watch them,” said Miss Martin.
“We kin! I was just washin’ Freddy’s han’s to take him wid me—he’s too little to leave behind, yeh see.”
Miss Martin’s little flock of six understood that part of life, for had not each one of them been scrubbed and polished with brown soap and coarse rags just before leaving the city?
Freddy was soon cleansed from the results of making mud-pies near the brook, and Maggie triumphantly led the way to the large green clearing where the drill was to take place. On the way she pointed out other Nests and explained who occupied them, then she showed Miss Martin the hospital, or clinic, as Maggie called it.
“Dis Nest next to yourn is goin’ to have some blind kids in it, from the asylum up in the Bronx. Miss Flutey tol’ me not one of ’em ever saw anyt’ing on de outside world. She said all dey coul’ see was what was inside dere minds—do you b’lieve dat?” asked Maggie, doubtfully.