This was too much for Dulcie’s kind heart.
“Very well,” she said desperately, “if you both think it’s our duty, I suppose we shall have to go. Are you sure your mother is at home, Rosy?”
Rosy nodded. She had stopped crying as suddenly as she began, and was evidently quite as much interested in the adventure as either Molly or Paul.
“Show us the way,” commanded Paul, and three minutes later, they had left the safe precincts of Washington Square, and turned their faces resolutely in the direction of the East River.
CHAPTER VIII
THE HOUSE ON AVENUE A
THEY were obliged to walk fast, in order to keep pace with “the stolen child,” who trotted on ahead, her little yellow head bobbing up and down in her excitement. For the first few blocks, all went well, but as the neighborhood grew more squalid, the streets dirtier and more crowded, their hearts began to fail.
“I didn’t know there were such dirty streets in New York,” whispered Dulcie. “Don’t you really think we’d better turn back?”
But, though anything but comfortable himself, Paul shook his head resolutely.
“If it’s our duty, we ought to go on,” he said. “I guess it’s always like this where beggars live. It’s a real adventure, and I never had one before. I’m going on, even if you don’t. Oh, I say, this is a pretty awful place. Do you suppose it’s Avenue A?”
Involuntarily they all paused on the corner, and at the same moment Rosy turned her head and asked a question.