The two little girls, now thoroughly frightened, made a hasty retreat towards the door, but Paul did not move.
“Come, Paul,” implored Dulcie, her teeth chattering with fright. “We don’t want to stay here any longer. She isn’t a stolen child, after all. Oh, please do come.”
“I won’t come till she apologizes for being so rude,” returned Paul, obstinately.
At that moment the man on the bed moved and raised his head.
“Chase ’em, Jim,” he commanded in his deep, hoarse voice; “I can’t stand no more talk. The wind from that door’s enough to give abody a chill. Chase ’em out, I say, and shut the door.”
“Come along, young one,” said Jim, and seizing Paul by the shoulders, he gave him a push, which sent that indignant small boy flying out into the street. As for Dulcie and Molly, they were already flying up the steps.
“Let’s run, oh, let’s run,” gasped Molly. “Come, Dulcie, come, Paul. Oh, do be quick.” And away flew the terrified child, closely followed by her sister.
But at the next corner Dulcie’s sense of duty suddenly asserted itself.
“We’ve got to stop and wait for Paul,” she panted. “Aunt Julia would be so angry if we left him behind.”
Molly paused reluctantly, and they both looked around. The next instant they had each uttered a shriek of horror, and were running back in the direction from whence they had come. It was a truly awful sight which met their gaze, for, rolling on a pile of snow, were two small figures, kicking and pummelling each other in a manner which filled Dulcie and Molly with unspeakable terror, for one of the figures was Jim Finnegan, and the other was Paul.