Two younger children were playing at keeping house in a corner. How beautiful and bright they were! Their eyes, their hair, even their simple cotton garments fairly shone.
“And this,” thought Florence, swallowing hard, “is what Margaret DeLane lives for.”
Then suddenly her spirits rose. “Why, this is what we all live for, the little children!” she thought. “We all at times are foolish. Many of us break the law. Few of us who are older deserve a great deal of sympathy. It’s the children, poor little innocent ones, who are too young to do any wrong—they are the ones who suffer.
“And they must not!” she thought with sudden fierceness. “They must not. We must find that gypsy robber and get that money back!”
As if in answer to this fierce resolve, the door opened and in walked Margaret DeLane.
“It was that I wanted to do so much!” the woman all but sobbed as she told her story. “Mrs. Doyle, two doors away, asked a fortune teller how she should invest her money. She said, ‘Buy a house.’ Mrs. Doyle bought a house, one of the worst in the city. Someone wanted the land for what they called ‘slum clearance,’ and Mrs. Doyle doubled her money. So—”
“So you asked a gypsy woman what to do with your money, and she stole it?” Florence sighed. “Well, we’ve got to go and find that gypsy woman and get the money back. It will be difficult. It may be dangerous. Are you ready?”
“Ready?” The weary woman reached for her coat. “But you?” She held back. “Why should you—”
“Oh, that’s part of my job.” Florence forced a laugh. “It’s all in a day’s work. So—come on.”
They were away, but not until Florence had placed upon the walls of her memory a picture of three smiling children’s faces. “These,” she thought, “shall be my inspiration, come what may!”