"The apple woman at the corner saw her fall. Her head struck on the curb. The apple woman ran to her. But she got to her feet and walked away without looking back.
"Right past her own doorway she went, without looking up—the apple woman saw her—and straight over toward Broadway.
"I ran all the way, asking, begging people to say they'd seen her. But not one would say it!"
"But," said Wardwell, "it doesn't prove anything. She was a little dazed. She didn't want to come in to frighten you. She just walked around a little and went, maybe, to a doctor. That's what she'd do, can't you see?"
"I wish I could, Jimmie. But it isn't what she'd do at all. She'd just walk quietly into the house, and I'd never know that anything had happened.
"I'm going out again! I can't stay, she may be wandering farther and farther from me every minute!"
There was a fierce, mothering eagerness in the girl's voice, as though she already saw the tragedy of the months to come, and had already taken up the burden of being mother to her mother.
Wardwell laid a gentle hand on the girl's shoulder, saying:
"I think you could better let me go. I can go farther than you."
"She went toward Broadway," the girl said slowly. "But it's no use trying to save me that way. I must find her myself. I know that."