“Who is Mrs. Foley?”
“She’s the lady I help. When Mom died Mrs. Foley lived in the next tenement. She took me. She brought me out here to Dogtown when she moved.”
“Why,” breathed Amy, with a shudder, “she’s one of those awful Dogtown children.”
“Put a stopper on that, Amy!” exclaimed Darry, promptly.
But the freckle-faced girl heard her. She glared at the older girl—the girl so much better situated than herself. Her pale eyes snapped.
“You don’t haf to touch me,” she said sharply. “I won’t poison you.”
“Oh, Amy!” murmured her chum.
But Amy Drew was not at all bad at heart, or intentionally unkind. She flamed redly and the tears sprang to her eyes.
“Oh! I didn’t mean—Forgive me, little girl! What is your name? I’ll help you find your cousin.”
“My name’s Henrietta. They call me Hen. You needn’t mind gushin’ over me. I know how you feel. I’d feel just the same if I wore your clo’es and you wore mine.”