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I guess maybe God has a hand in this. I'm not so sure my boy hasn't
come after all. Who are you, and where are you going? Don't you want to
send your ma word you will stay here a week with me?"
Mickey lifted a bewildered face.
"Why, I couldn't, lady," he said brokenly, but gaining control as he went
on. "I must work. Mr. Bruce needs me. I'm a regular plute compared with
most of the 'newsies'; you wouldn't want to do anything for me who has so
much; but if you're honestly thinking about taking a boy and he hasn't
come, how would you like to have a little girl in his place? A little girl
about _so_ long, and _so_ wide, with a face like Easter church flowers,
and rings of gold on her head, and who wouldn't be half the trouble a boy
would, because she hasn't ever walked, so she couldn't get into things."
"Oh my goodness! A crippled little girl?"
"She isn't crippled," said Mickey. "She's as straight as you are, what
there is of her. She had so little food, and care, her back didn't seem to
stiffen, so her legs won't walk.


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