“Yes,” said Henry. “Go home to your ma, right away, like a good girl.”
Lucy remained motionless. Her poor young eyes seemed to see nothing.
“Good Lord!” sighed Meeks, wiping his forehead with his disengaged hand. “Well, come along, Lucy. Now, Lucy, you don't want to make a spectacle of yourself on the street. I think we must go home with you, because I can see right in your eyes that you won't budge a step unless we make you, but we don't want to walk holding on to you. So now you just march along ahead, and we'll keep behind you, and we won't have all the town up in arms.”
Lucy said nothing. Meeks wiped his forehead again, freed her, and gave her a gentle shove between her shoulders. “Now, march,” said he.
Lucy began to walk; the two men kept behind her. Presently they met a boy, who evidently noticed nothing unusual, for he leaped past, whistling.
“Thank the Lord it isn't far,” muttered Meeks, wiping his forehead. “It's d—n hot.”
Lucy walked on quite rapidly after awhile. They were nearly in sight of her home when Mrs. Ayres met them. She was almost running, and was pale and out of breath.
“Lucy,” she began, “where—?” Then she realized that Meeks and Henry were with the girl.
“Henry, you just keep an eye on her,” said Meeks. Then he spoke to Mrs. Ayres with old-fashioned ceremony. “Madam,” he said, “will you be so kind as to step aside? I have a word I would like to say to you.”
Mrs. Ayres, with a scared glance at Lucy, complied.