“I won’t go anywhere without Dulcie,” said Molly, loyally. “I think we ought to go, though, Dulcie. She says she really was stolen, and it must be our duty to help her find her own mother, even if Grandma and Aunt Julia are angry. I’m sure Papa would want us to do our duty.” Dulcie wavered, and Rosy, quick to seize her advantage, began to cry. “I want to find me family, I want to find me family, I do, I do!” she wailed, rubbing her eyes with her knuckles. “I want to have pretty clothes, and ice-cream, like in the ’orspittle.” This was too much for Dulcie’s kind heart. “Very well,” she said desperately, “if you both think it’s our duty, I suppose we shall have to go. Are you sure your mother is at home, Rosy?” Rosy nodded. She had stopped crying as suddenly as she began, and was evidently quite as much interested in the adventure as either Molly or Paul. “Show us the way,” commanded Paul, and three minutes later, they had left the safe precincts of Washington Square, and turned their faces resolutely in the direction of the East River. CHAPTER VIII THE HOUSE ON AVENUE A They were obliged to walk fast, in order to keep pace with “the stolen child,” who trotted on ahead, her little yellow head bobbing up and down in her excitement. For the first few blocks, all went well, but as the neighborhood grew more squalid, the streets dirtier and more crowded, their hearts began to fail. “I didn’t know there were such dirty streets in New York,” whispered Dulcie. “Don’t you really think we’d better turn back?” But, though anything but comfortable himself, Paul shook his head resolutely. “If it’s our duty, we ought to go on,” he said. “I guess it’s always like this where beggars live. It’s a real adventure, and I never had one before. I’m going on, even if you don’t. Oh, I say, this is a pretty awful place. Do you suppose it’s Avenue A?” Involuntarily they all paused on the corner, and at the same moment Rosy turned her head and asked a question. “Can I take Jim along with me?” she demanded, anxiously. “Along where?” inquired Dulcie. “To that nice place you said I was goin’ to. I’d like to take him; he’s me brother.” “I don’t know; perhaps you can,” Dulcie said, doubtfully. “Isn’t it sweet of her to want to take her little brother?” she added in a whisper. “Stolen children always want to do something like that. Their families are so happy to get them back they generally let them have anything they want. Perhaps they’ll let Jim come, and adopt him, and send him to college, and when they grow up, he and Rosy will marry each other. It often happens that way.” “It’s terribly interesting,” said Molly, “but I wish Avenue A wasn’t quite so dirty.” “Is it much farther, Rosy?” Dulcie questioned, anxiously. Rosy shook her head, and pointed to a particularly disreputable-looking building, on the opposite side of the way. “It’s there,” she announced; “down in the basement.”