But Lovey Mary had forgotten her question. She was taking a farewell
look at the home, every nook and corner of which had suddenly grown
dear. Already she seemed a thing apart, one having no right to its
shelter and protection. She turned to where Tommy was playing with
some sticks in the corner, and bidding him not to stir or speak until
her return, she slipped back up the walk and into the kitchen. Swiftly
and quietly she made a fire in the stove and filled the kettle with
water. Then she looked about for something more she might do. On the
table lay the grocery book with a pencil attached. She thought a
moment, then wrote laboriously under the last order: "Miss Bell I will
take kere Tommy pleas don't be mad." Then she softly closed the door
behind her.

A few minutes later she lifted Tommy out of the low shed window, and
hurried him down the alley and out into the early morning streets. At
the corner they took a car, and Tommy knelt by the window and absorbed
the sights with rapt attention; to him the adventure was beginning
brilliantly. Even Lovey Mary experienced a sense of exhilaration when
she paid their fare out of one of the silver dollars. She knew the
conductor was impressed, because he said, "You better watch Buddy's
hat, ma'am." That "ma'am" pleased her profoundly; it caused her
unconsciously to assume Miss Bell's tone and manner as she conversed
with the back of Tommy's head.

"We'll go out on the avenue," she said. "We'll go from house to house
till I get work. 'Most anybody would be glad to get a handy girl that
can cook and wash and sew, only--I ain't very big, and then there's
you."

"Ain't that a big house?" shouted Tommy, half way out of the window.