Then she felt a small hand clutch her skirt and turned about to see Bonny Angel's face clouding with grief and her dainty under lip beginning to quiver piteously. A world of reproach seemed to dwell in her pleading, "Bonny come!" and Glory's own cheerfulness instantly returned. Lifting the child again, she poised her on her own shoulder and started valiantly forward across the ferry-slip and past the various stands of the small merchants which lined the waiting-room walls. Thus elevated, Bonny Angel was just upon a level with one tempting display of cakes and candies, and the sight of them reminded her that it was time to eat. She took her arm from Glory's neck, to which she had clung, made an unexpected dash for a heap of red confections, lost her balance, and fell head long in the midst. CHAPTER IX In the Ferry-House Then up rose the old woman behind the stand, ready with tongue and fist to punish this destroyer of her stock; for the truth was that Miss Bonny was not an "Angel" at all, but what Nancy Smith had so common-sensibly judged her to be--a lost child. Such a plump and substantial child, as well, that her downfall crushed to a crimson flood the red "drops" she would have seized and utterly demolished another pile of perishable cakes. "Save us and help us! You clumsy girl! What you mean, hurlin' that young one onto my stand, that way? Well, you've spoiled a power of stuff an' I only hope you can pay for it on the spot!" With that, the irate vendor snatched Bonny from the stand and dropped her upon the floor beyond it; where, terrified both by her fall and this rough treatment, she set up such a wail that further scolding was prevented. More than that, instead of being properly abashed by her own carelessness, Glory was far more concerned that Bonny's beautiful coat was stained and ruined and its owner's heart so grieved. Down she dropped beside her "Guardian," showering kisses upon her, and comforting her so tenderly that the baby forgot her fear and began to lick the sticky fluid, which had filled the "drops," from her sleeve that it had smeared. This restored quiet so that the vender could demand payment for the damage she had swiftly estimated, and she thrust her hand toward the pair on the floor, saying, "Hand me over a dollar, and be quick about it! Ought to be more, seein's it'll take me half a day to straighten up and----" "A dollar! Why--why, I never had so much in my hull life! an' not a single cent now. Yes--they's a quarter to home, 't I forgot an' left in the bag, that Nick Dodd give me--but--a dollar!" gasped poor Glory, as frightened as surprised. Just then, too, a wharf policeman drew near and stopped to learn what was amiss. He did not look like the jolly officer of Elbow Lane and the stand-woman seemed sure of his sympathy as she rapidly related her side of the story.