"Where is the place?" asked the maid, showing Danny the note.
"Oh, dat's a back tenement-house in Roosevelt Street," Danny answered. "Dare is Italians dare," he added, for he knew the place well, his old home with his uncle having been in the same block.
"Is it any worse than this?" the maid asked, in a voice which showed she was getting frightened.
"Dis is Fift' Avenue compared to dat," Danny said.
The girl began to whimper, and said at last, "I won't go. I'm scared to death already. I won't go to her nasty sick poor, and get the small-pox and everything else."
At first Danny did not know what to do. He tried to persuade the maid to go, but she was thoroughly frightened now, and half hysterical. Finally Danny took up the bundle, saying: "Well, I'm going, anyway. If Miss Barstow wants dese things she is goin' to have dem, and you can do what you like. I don't tink you are much good except for show, anyhow."
"I'll stay here until some one comes and takes me home," cried the girl, as Danny went out of the mission.
It was dark by this time, but Danny knew the way perfectly. He found the low narrow entrance to the front tenement, went through that to a little stone-paved court where there was one gas-lamp, and was crossing that when a couple of men stopped him, and demanded roughly to know what he had in the bundle.
"Never you mind," he answered. "It's for Miss Barstow, not for mugs like you."
The men slunk away without any more threats. They were none too good, but they, like nearly all the people in that neighborhood, had been won to respect Miss Barstow, and anything which belonged to her was almost sacred in their eyes.