I think if the word "de-part" had not sounded so very ponderous, Elsie would have called back that she was no tramp. As it was, she ran blindly on.
"Mother! mother!" she sobbed, wringing her little cold hands. But no one answered. A clock near by tolled nine, ten, eleven. Two drops of rain fell. The wind rustled drearily among the tree-tops.
Steps sounded near. A tall man approached, and Elsie caught the gleam of brass buttons.
"What are you doing here, boy?" demanded the newcomer, in a great bass voice.
"I'm not a boy," cried Elsie. "I never was a boy in all my life. I'm Elsie Baker. I want to go home."
She quite broke down, and wept piteously.
"Hoity-toity!" exclaimed the man, who was one of the police. "Where is your home?"
"Out at Porter's Corner. Joe brought me to the percession. I wish he hadn't. I wish— Oh dear, dear me!"
"Now here's a pretty mess!" said the policeman. "There's nothing for it but to take charge o' you to-night, and see how we can manage to-morrow. You come along with me."
Finding the child too exhausted to walk, he picked her up, and tramped off down in town with his burden. Where did he carry her?