I called to the driver to stop, and, looking
again, saw that it was a woman standing bewildered and irresolute
on the street corner. As she turned her anxious face toward me I
saw that it was Mrs. Dobbs.
What was she doing here, and where was Expectant?
She began an incoherent apology, and then burst into explanatory
tears. When I had got her in the carriage she said, between her
sobs, that Expectant had not returned; that she had received a
letter from a friend here saying he was sick,--oh very, very sick,--
and father could not come with her, so she came alone. She was so
frightened, so lonely, so miserable.
Had she his address?
Yes, just here! It was on the outskirts of Washington, near
Georgetown. Then I would take her there, if I could, for she knew
nobody.
On our way I tried to cheer her up by pointing out some of the
children of the Great Mother before alluded to, but she only shut
her eyes as we rolled down the long avenues, and murmured, "Oh,
these cruel, cruel distances!"
At last we reached the locality, a negro quarter, yet clean and
neat in appearance.
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