“But I DO mind,” protested Polly, trying to raise herself to a sitting position. “Where's the bunch?”
“De wat?” asked Mandy in surprise.
“The bunch—Jim and Toby and the rest of the push!”
“Lor' bless you!” Mandy exclaimed. “Dey's done gone 'long wid de circus, hours ago.”
“Gone! Show gone!” Polly cried in amazement. “Then what am I doing here?”
“Hole on dar, honey! hole on!” Mandy cautioned. “Don't you 'cite yo'se'f.”
“Let me alone!” Polly put aside the arm that was trying to place a shawl around her. “I got to get out a-here.”
“You'se got plenty o' time for dat,” Mandy answered, “yes' yo' wait awhile.”
“I can't wait, and I won't!” Polly shrieked, almost beside herself with anxiety. “I got to get to the next burg—Wakefield, ain't it? What time is it? Let me alone! Let me go!” she cried, struggling desperately.
The door opened softly and the young pastor stood looking down at the picture of the frail, white-faced child, and her black, determined captor.