If women with such accomplishments were willing and glad to work for such money, it was plainly to be seen that there was little hope for her, with only a thorough New England school education.
“What shall I do?” she whispered as she turned toward home. “I haven’t a dollar in the world, and poor Dollie is ill and suffering.”
It was almost dark, still Marion walked along slowly. She had been so far that day that she felt lame and weary.
As she reached Union Square she started through the park, hoping that a glimpse of the grass and trees would rest her a little.
It was the middle of September, and the fountain, was still playing. There were people on all the benches and the walks were swarming with children.
Suddenly Marion saw a sight that made her blood boil with anger. She stood still staring for a moment, hardly able to believe it.
Some big boys had found a poor little yellow dog, and were amusing themselves by throwing it into the basin of the fountain and then letting it swim out, only to compel it to repeat the operation.
The dog was trembling with fear and looked utterly wretched, and Marion noticed that it was lame and limping.
In an instant she was in the very midst of the group of urchins, her fair face ablaze with indignation.