“My child, my poor child, what are you doing here so late, in the cold, and with these thin clothes? Why don’t you go home?”
Then the poor little soul, overcome with a horrible fear, began to shiver and cry. “Oh, don’t! Oh, please don’t send me back to Tante Pauline! I’m afraid of her; she shook me and struck me this morning, and I’ve run away from her.”
LADY JANE, CLINGING TO THE RAILING, LOOKED AND LOOKED
“Where does your Tante Pauline live?” asked the woman, studying the tremulous little face with a pair of keen, thoughtful eyes.
“I don’t know; away over there somewhere.”
“Don’t you know the name of the street?”
“It isn’t a street; it’s a little place all mud and water, with boards to walk on.”
“Can’t you tell me your aunt’s name?”
“Yes, it’s Tante Pauline.”