“It was the only place she had ever been in New York,” said Maria.

“But I don’t see what particular reason she would have for going there, though,” said Wollaston.  “How would she remember the street and number?”

“She was an awful bright kid,” said Gladys, with a momentary lapse of reason, “and kids is queer.  I know, ’cause we’ve got so many of ’em to our house.  Sometimes they’ll remember things you don’t ever think they would.  My little sister Maud remembers how my mother drowned five kittens oncet, when she was in long clothes.  We knowed she did, ’cause when the cat had kittens next time we caught her trying to drown ’em herself.  Kids is awful queer.  Maud can’t remember how to spell her own name, either, and she’s most six now.  She spells it M-a-u-d, when it had ought to be M-a-u-g-h-d.  I shouldn’t be one mite surprised if M’ria’s little sister remembered the street and number.”

“Anyway, she knew her whole name, because I’ve heard her say it,” said Maria.  “Her cousin’s name is Mrs. George B. Edison.  Evelyn used to say it, and we used to laugh.”

“Oh, well, if she knew the name like that she might have found the place all right,” said Wollaston.  “But what puzzles me is why she wanted to go there, anyway?”

“I don’t know,” said Maria.

“I don’t know,” said Wollaston, “but it seems to me the best thing to do would be to go directly to a police-office and have the chief of police notified, and set them at work; but then I suppose your father has done that already.”

Maria turned upon him with indignation.  “Go to a police-station to find my little sister!” said she.  “What would I go there for?”

“Yes, what do you suppose that kid has did?” asked Gladys.

“What would I go there for?” demanded Maria, flashing the light of her excited, strained little face upon the boy.

Maria no longer looked pretty.  She no longer looked even young.  Lines of age were evident around her mouth, her forehead was wrinkled.  The boy fairly started at the sight of her.  She seemed like a stranger to him.  Her innermost character, which he had heretofore only guessed at by superficial signs, was written plainly on her face.  The boy felt himself immeasurably small and young, manly and bold of his age as he really was.  When a young girl stretches to the full height of her instincts, she dwarfs any boy of her own age.  Maria’s feeling for her little sister was fairly maternal.  She was in spirit a mother searching for her lost young, rather than a girl searching for her little sister.  Her whole soul expanded.  She fairly looked larger, as well as older.  When they got off the train at Jersey City, she led the little procession straight for the Twenty-third Street ferry.  She marched ahead like a woman of twice her years.

“You had better hold up your dress, M’ria,” said Gladys, coming up with her, and looking at her with wonder.  “My, how you do race!”