The street was piled with snow and refuse, and the children were obliged to pick their way, but they all had rubber boots, and the crossing was effected without much difficulty. Before the objectionable-looking tenement Rosy came to a halt. “It’s down them steps,” she announced. “Oh, I don’t want to go down there, I really don’t,” cried Molly, shrinking back in sudden alarm. Dulcie had grown pale, but her face was stern and set. “We’ve got to go now we’re here,” she said, firmly. “I don’t like it, but Paul thinks it’s our duty. Think of poor little Rosy having to live here all the time. If we can help her to find her real family, nothing else will matter.” But despite her brave words, Dulcie’s heart was beating very fast, as she followed “the stolen child” down the slippery flight of steps. Molly was trembling violently, and even Paul had turned a little pale. At the foot of the steps Rosy opened a door, and stood aside to let her companions enter. Dulcie and Molly are middle-aged women now, with boys and girls of their own, but neither of them has ever forgotten her first impression of that tenement house basement. It really seemed incredible that such a quantity of dirt could have accumulated in so small a space. The floor was dirty, the walls were dirty, and the few articles of furniture the room contained were covered with dust. In the middle of the floor an extremely untidy baby was sprawling, playing with a half-starved kitten. On a tumbled-down bed in one corner a man lay, apparently asleep. There was a small fire in the stove, on which a pot was simmering, and a woman in a soiled calico wrapper had just stooped to add some ingredient to the steaming contents. At the opening of the door the woman turned her head, and at sight of the unexpected visitors she started back, with an exclamation of astonishment, and stood staring at the children, with eyes and mouth wide open. At the same moment the man on the bed opened his eyes. “Shut that door,” he commanded in a very hoarse voice, and the words were followed by a severe fit of coughing. “Come in,” said Rosy. “Dad’s got an awful cold. He don’t like air.” The children could not help thinking that a little fresh air would have improved the atmosphere, but they dared not say so, and in another moment they found themselves inside, with the door closed behind them. There was a moment of dead silence; then the woman seemed to find her voice. “What do yous want?” she inquired in a tone that was anything but hospitable. “We want,” began Dulcie, with a mighty effort to control her shaking voice, “that is, we came with Rosy. We thought perhaps you wouldn’t mind telling us some things about her. There seems to be so much she can’t remember.” “What’s Rosy been up to?” inquired Mrs. Finnegan, fixing a stern eye upon her small daughter. “She ain’t took nothin’ from yous, has she?”