Then the woman crimsoned with wrath and she found speech, the patois of New England, instead of New Jersey, to which Maria was accustomed, and which she understood.  This woman, instead of half speaking, ran all her words together in a coarse, nasal monotone.

“Hadn’t nothin’ to put on her,” she said.  “She’d outgrowed all she had, hadn’t nothin’, mind your own business, go ’long home, where you b’long.”

Maria understood the last words, and she replied, fiercely, “I am not going home one step until you promise me you’ll get decent underwear for this child to wear to school,” said she, “and that you won’t allow her to go out-of-doors in this condition again.  If you do, I’ll have you arrested.”

The woman’s face grew redder.  She made a threatening movement towards Maria, but the man beside the stove unexpectedly arose and slouched between them, grinning and feeling in his pocket, whence he withdrew two one-dollar notes.

“Here,” he said, in a growling voice, which was nevertheless intended to be ingratiating.  “Go ‘n’ buy the young one somethin’ to go to school in.  Don’t yer mind.”

Maria half extended her hand, then she drew it back.  She looked at the man, who exhaled whiskey as a fungus an evil perfume.  She glanced at Mrs. Ramsey.

“Is this man your father?” she asked of Jessy.

Immediately the boy burst into a peal of meaning laughter.  The man himself chuckled, then looked grave, with an effort, as he stood extending the money.

“Better take ’em an’ buy the young one some clothes,” he said.

“Who is this man?” demanded Maria, severely, of the laughing boy.

“It’s Mr. John Dorsey,” replied Franky.

Then a light of the underneath evil fire of the world broke upon Maria’s senses.  She repelled the man haughtily.

“I don’t want your money,” said she.  “But”—­she turned to the woman—­“if you send that child to school again, clothed as she is to-day, I will have you arrested.  I mean it.”  With that she was gone, with a proud motion.  Laughter rang out after her, also a scolding voice and an oath.  She did not turn her head.  She marched straight on out of the yard, to the street, and home.

She could not eat her supper.  She had a sick, shocked feeling.

“What is the matter?” her aunt Maria asked.  “It’s so cold you can’t have been bothered with the smells to-day.”

“It’s worse than smells,” replied Maria.  Then she told her story.

Her aunt stared at her.  “Good gracious!  You didn’t go to that awful house, a young girl like you?” she said, and her prim cheeks burned.  “Why, that man’s livin’ right there with Mrs. Ramsey, and her husband winking at it!  They are awful people!”

“I would have gone anywhere to get that poor child clothed decently,” said Maria.

“But you wouldn’t take his money!”

“I rather guess I wouldn’t!”

“Well, I don’t blame you, but I don’t see what is going to be done.”