Billy Bruce, the boy who lived next door to Mrs. Gray, had told her blood-curdling tales concerning his oft-repeated experiences in being locked up for the night, and, moreover, according to his criterion, he was always innocent of any misdemeanor.

“But the worst part of all,” he had confided, “is a goin’ before the judge.  You know the judge is the man what’s made to git folks into trouble.”

What should she do?  Her childish eyes could see that grandpa was about given out, but the mere thought of returning to Burton street filled her with a feeling akin to terror.

“But,” she argued, “Mis’ Gray won’t be home till Monday, and mebbe it’s too far to the beautiful land that we can’t get there today, anyhow.  And I know mother’d feel awful if we’d get put in the p’lice station.

“Say, grandpa,” she suddenly inquired, “why didn’t we ask that p’liceman the way?  They’re on purpose to tell folks how to go.  I wish we had, but then I’m afraid to speak to another.”

“I don’t know, child, but I wish we wuz there.  I’m so cold and tired, and I want Tom.”

“I’ll tell you, grandpa, let’s go back and get warm and rested.  You know there is some of that bushel of coal left Mis’ Gray got the other day.  Then tomorrow we can try once more.  The lady said something about church and Sunday school, but I don’t know what she meant.  Mebbe we can find some yet to tell us, when it’s for everybody.  I’d think we could.”

“Jest as you say, dearie, jest as you say, but it ’pears like we must find it, ’cause I’m so homesick.”

Slowly they began retracing their steps, the old man leaning heavily with one hand upon the stick which served as a cane, and with the other clasping Rosa’s.

Turning a corner, they suddenly came face to face with a well-dressed gentleman who, Rosa thought, could certainly tell them.

“Oh, say, mister,” she said running up to his side, “won’t you please—­”

“No, I won’t, you little beggar, I have nothing for you.”

For the instant she was so surprised and indignant, that she could not answer, but, collecting herself, shouted after him: 

“We ain’t either beggars, and I don’t want no money.  I just want to know the way to the beautiful land.”

But the man was lost in the crowd, and the weary, disappointed pilgrims started on.

So frequently did they have to turn aside into some alley or secluded spot for grandpa to rest that Rosa became alarmed.  What if night should overtake them, bringing to pass the policeman’s direful prediction?

She was so tired and cold, and her heart so heavy from repeated disappointments, that the tears began rolling down her pale cheeks.

“What is it, my little girl?” unexpectedly some one gently asked.

In unutterable surprise, she looked up into the face of another policeman who was smiling kindly upon her.

Many a warm heart beats beneath the policeman’s star, and Rosa’s evident sorrow had aroused the sincere sympathy of this one.