On and on she ran, passing through street after street, turning corner after corner, till at last, quite breathless and spent, she ventured to look behind, and seeing she was not pursued, took courage to slacken her pace. Still she dared not go back to the crossing; she was even afraid to return to Mrs. Flanagan’s, lest the gentleman should be seeking her there; and so she wandered on, the streets growing less and less familiar, till she had lost her way entirely, and then sat down, quite wearied out, upon the curb-stone, to rest herself a little and determine what to do. It was a handsome street, clean, and well paved, and lined with stately brownstone houses, not at all like any part of the city where Berty had ever been before. Though it was nearly noon, the people on the sidewalks were few and far between, and, but for the stages and the handsome carriages, the street would have seemed very lonely and quiet. Berty thought to herself it could not be a very good place for the rag-pickers and the crossing-sweepers. But who was that skulking behind the area railing yonder, and peeping out at her? Berty started up in alarm, but she was too tired to run away now; and, after all, it was only Tim. Tim could not do her any great harm; upon the whole, she would be rather glad to see him than otherwise, for he would know the way home. So she sat down again and waited for him to come.
But Tim did not come. He stayed behind the railing, only peeping out now and then to make sure that his charge did not steal away unperceived. He had taken it for granted that Berty was running away from him, for he knew nothing about the strange gentleman; and so he had been skulking behind things and people all the way up in such a sly fashion that any one who noticed him at all must have taken him, poor honest fellow, for the culprit, instead of Berty.
Berty waited, as I said, and wondered; and when she found Tim was not coming to her, plucked up courage at last to go to him. Tim could scarcely believe his eyes; but he did not run away from Berty, you may be sure. He made room for her upon the stone step beside him, and received her with a very pleasant smile.
“What made you run away, Berty?” said he. “Sure, you knew I’d never harm you.”
Berty was very glad Tim had put this construction upon her flight, for she dreaded, of all things, letting him know about the gentleman. “What made you watch me so, then, Tim?” said she.
Tim was not quite prepared with an answer to this question, so, in true Irish fashion, he turned it off with a joke. “A cat may look at a king, Berty,” he answered; “and you’re no better than a king, sure.”
“And you’re no better than a cat, Tim,” answered Berty, sharply. “You looked just like one, I’m sure. But I don’t want to talk about that now,” she added, decidedly; “and if you begin, I shall run away. I want you to show me the way home.”
“You’re too tired to go home now, Berty,” said Tim, with a pitying glance at the pale, anxious face. “Sit down here, and rest a bit, and eat an apple. You’re hungry, I’m sure. I’ll never say a word you don’t like, honey,—see if I do.”
Berty was very tired, and not a little hungry; so, having confidence in Tim’s promise, she sat down beside him; while Tim, having made up his mind that his best chance of influencing her was by removing her fear of him, set himself to entertain her to the best of his ability.
