"You will have to leave her for good and all," he said. "You must decide between her and me. At any rate, she is doing nothing for you, and I am willing to work for you. It is odd, kid, but, now I come to think of it, I want you with me. It seems like leaving would be easier along with you."
"I don't know what to do," the world-old child said, undecidedly, but her eyes were dry, the sobs had left her voice.
"Then do as I say," he threw out firmly. "Go home and get your best dress on and your shoes and stockings, and some hat or other. Don't bother about a valise. I have two, and we'll stop on the road somewhere and I'll buy you some clothes. We are to be brother and sister, you know. From this on you are Dora Trott."
The child was still undecided, though her face was lighted with growing expectation. "Oh, it would be nice—scrumptious!" she half laughed, "but your ma and Aunt Jane—"
"Forget them!" he ordered, sharply. "They are not thinking of you to-night, are they? Huh! I guess not! Hurry! Get your things and come back. I'll be ready. We'll have to walk to the station, and I don't want to meet anybody on the way, either. We may have to take the back and side streets, and cut through an alley or two."
"May I bring my doll?" she asked. "I don't want to leave her."
"I'll get you a new one—never mind it," he answered, impatiently, stifling one of his old oaths.
"But I want her. I love her and she'd miss me. They would kick her about over there."
"Then bring her. I'll pack her away somewhere. Get a move on you. See how quick you can be."
"I'll hurry," Dora said, now completely resigned to his will. "I'll be ready in time."