which was no hat, I leaned
forward, my heart in my throat. The odd, eager young face, the
boyish arrangement of the hair above it, the quick, bird-like
movements of the slender body, had burned for days and nights in my
brain, and I recognized her at once.

"Jimmy," I said, "come here." I drew him to the window with nervous
haste, my fingers twitching, my breath unsteady. "Who is that girl
with the baby? There she is, turning the corner. Look quick! Do
you know her?"

Jimmy shook his head. "Never saw her. Can't see her now." He
leaned far out the window, but the girl had disappeared, and the
woman in the doorway had gone in and closed the door.

I must have said something, made some sort of sound, for Jimmy,
turning from the window, looked at me uneasily, in his eyes distress
and understanding.

"What's the matter, Miss Heath? You'd better sit down. Did the heat
make you sick? You're--you're whiter than that wall."

CHAPTER XI

A sickness which Jimmy could not understand was indeed upon me, and
unsteadily I leaned against the window-frame, looking at, but not
seeing, him, and not until he spoke again did I remember I was not
alone.

"Is it very bad? You look as if it hurts so. Wait a minute--I'll
get you some water."

I caught him as he started to run down the hall, and drew him back.
"I don't want any water. I am not sick." My head went up. "The
smell of paste would make me ill if I stayed, however, and I'm not
going to stay to-day. I'll come some other time. Run on and join
the other boys. Tell your mother"--I seemed groping for words--"tell
your mother I will see her before you start to school. Run on,
Jimmy, and thank Mr. Pritchard for lending you to me. And laugh as
much as you want to, Jimmy. Laugh all you can before--you can't!"

Over the banister the child was leaning anxiously, watching me as I
stumbled down the steps. At their foot I turned and waved my hand
and laughed, an odd, faint, far-away laugh that seemed to come from
some one else; and then I went into the street and found myself
crossing it, impelled by surging impulse to know--

To know what? At the foot of the rickety stairs leading to the high
porch from which I had seen the girl come I stopped. All I had been
repressing, fighting, resisting for days past, had in a moment
yielded to horror, and hurt that seemed past healing, and I was
surrendering to what I should know was impossible. I must be mad!