"That woman is no relation to her," I said, "only a person in the house, that kept her when her mother died,—to make money out of her, I suppose. Would it be against any law if I took her home with me, without letting any one know where she was gone, and took care of her? Could that woman claim her again?"
The policeman whistled, by which token proving himself Yankee born, and considered a moment. Then he answered, deliberately,—
"No, it ain't agin no law, as I knows of. I don't think the woman would dare to take her from you, and 'tain't likely any one would disturb you. All I'm thinking on is,—you're young, miss,—would your folks like it, and wouldn't you get tired on her?"
"I have no folks," I said, with the old sadness rising up and choking me. "Will you kindly call a carriage, and put her in?"
I had given my direction without at all consulting the child. When he was gone for the hack I went up to her and asked her if she would go home with me, and have it for her home.
"Do you mean me to leave Mrs. McGuire?" she cried, with wide eyes.
"Yes, if you want to."
"And not—not come out for money any more?"
"Not, please God, while I have strength to work for us both."