“But we have none to give you. You can see we have only stepped—”
Dorothy stopped. Something about the boy startled her. Where had she seen that face? How queerly the boy’s hair was cut!
At the same moment the boy started—he looked at Dorothy for an instant, then turned and started to run through the brush.
“Oh, don’t run away,” called Dorothy after him. “I know you! Surely you can trust me!”
The rustling in the leaves ceased—the runner stopped. Dorothy saw this and hurried to add to her entreaties. “Do come over and let me talk to you. I am glad I found you. You surely do need help.”
At this the boy again appeared on the path. What a forlorn creature! Tattered clothes that never were intended for so small a form, a cap that bent down the child’s ears, old rubbers tied on the feet for shoes, and a face so dirty!
“Don’t say my name,” begged the boy, “you know they are after me.”
“But you need not fear us,” replied Dorothy, “we will help you all we can. Come right along with me. I will see that you are not caught, and that you get something to eat. Certainly you must be hungry.”
“Starved,” replied the other. “I have been living on stuff I picked up all over—even in ash cans. I was afraid to ask for things lately.”
“You poor child,” exclaimed Dorothy. “Have you been in the woods long?”