would have a home. Sounded like a child! He was halfway up the long flight
of stairs before he realized that he was going. He found the door at last,
then, stood listening. He heard long-drawn, heart-breaking moaning.
Presently he knocked. A child's shriek was the answer. Mickey straightway
opened the door. The voice guided him to a heap of misery in a corner.

"What's the matter kid?" inquired Mickey huskily.

The bundle stirred, while a cry issued. He glanced around the room. What
he saw reassured him. He laid hold of the tatters, beginning to uncover
what was under them. He dropped his hands, stepping back, when a tangled
yellow mop and a weazened, bloated girl-child face peered at him, with
wildly frightened eyes.

"If you'd put the wind you're wastin' into words, we'd get something done
quicker," advised Mickey.

The tiny creature clutched the filthy covers, still staring.

"Did you come to '_get_' me?" she quavered.

"No," said Mickey. "I heard you from below so I came to see what hurt you.
Ain't you got folks?"

She shook her head: "They took granny in a box and they said they'd come
right back and '_get_' me. Oh, please, please don't let them!"

"Why they'd be good to you," said Mickey largely. "They'd give you"--he
glanced at all the things the room lacked, then enumerated--"a clean bed,
lots to eat, a window you could be seeing from, a doll, maybe."