"With your parents?" queried Leroy, feeling for some money.
"No," said the girl, her red lips quivering for a moment. "Haven't got
any--only Johann and Martha--and _they_ don't care."
"Who is Johann?" said Leroy, with an encouraging smile.
"I don't know," she answered listlessly. "He's Johann Wilfer, that's
all."
"Why have you run away, then?"
"Johann came home drunk and beat me--so I ran out."
She pushed back her ragged shawl and held up her arm, on which bruises
showed up cruelly distinct. Leroy uttered an exclamation of anger.
"You poor child!" he said almost tenderly. "What can I do for you? If I
give you money----"
"Johann will take it and make me beg for more," she interrupted; and
Leroy withdrew his hand from his pocket, fearing this to be but too
true.
"Will you go home, if I take you?" he began.
The girl shook her head, and dragged the old shawl closer round her
shivering body.
"Not till morning," she said decidedly. "I shall be all right then."
"But you'll freeze to death here!"
She laughed harshly.
"I wish I was dead," she said, with an earnestness that made Leroy's
heart ache, as he thought of her extreme youth and saw the bitter
despair in the great dark eyes.
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