“I suppose you'll be willin' to pay my fare back to New York; that's all I want,” said she. “I don't want no thanks. I 'ain't no use for children, but I ain't a heathen.”
“I'll be glad to give you a great deal more than your fare to New York,” Harry said, in a broken voice. Evelyn was already fast asleep on his shoulder. He led the way down the stairs towards the other track.
“I don't want nothin' else, except five cents for my car-fare. I can get a transfer, and it won't be more'n that,” said the woman, following. “I've got enough to git along with, and I ain't a heathen.”
Harry, with Evelyn asleep in his arms, and Maria and Gladys, waited with the stout woman until the train came. The station was closed, and the woman sat down on a bench outside and immediately fell asleep herself.
When the train came, Harry thrust a bank-note into the woman's hand, having roused her with considerable difficulty, and she stumbled on to the train over her skirts just as she had done in the morning.
Harry knew the conductor. “Look out for that woman,” he called out to him. “She found my little girl that was lost.”
The conductor nodded affably as the train rolled out.
Wollaston Lee had gone home when the others descended the stairs and crossed to the other track. When Harry, with Evelyn in his arms, her limp little legs dangling, and Maria and Gladys, were on their way home, the question, which he in his confusion had not thought to put before, came.
“Why, Maria, where did you come from?” he asked.
“From New York,” replied Maria, meekly.