But nobody did stop him, although quite a crowd of ragged children had gathered to watch the fight. Possibly street fights were of too common occurrence in that neighborhood to cause any great excitement. At any rate, nobody stirred, and an agonized glance up and down the street convinced Dulcie that there was not a policeman in sight. It was quite evident that Paul was getting the worst of the battle. Jim was at least a year older, and fully half a head taller, and, moreover, he was accustomed to fighting. Paul had never fought with any one before in his life, and had always been considered a delicate boy. For one moment only did Dulcie hesitate. “I’ll help you, Paul,” she shouted, and the terrified Molly beheld her elder sister suddenly plunge forward into the snow-drift. In another moment there were three figures struggling together, instead of two. A shout went up from the bystanders. “Good for the kid. I say, she’s a plucky one. She’s got the big fellow down. Oh, my eye! she’s sittin’ on his head.” “Run, Paul, run,” gasped Dulcie, “quick, before he gets up again.” But Paul had no intention of running. His blood was up. “I won’t run,” he protested loudly. “I won’t be pitched out of a house like that. He’s got to apologize.” “Oh, come off your high horse,” advised Jim, who was, after all, a good-natured boy, and having succeeded, not without difficulty, in removing the weight on his head, and sending Dulcie rolling over in the snow, he rose to his feet, grinning. “Get along home, where you belong, and don’t try to fight a feller twice your size.” “You’ve got to apol----” began Paul, but he got no further, for Dulcie had already scrambled to her feet, and seized him firmly by the arm. “That’s all right, Paul,” she panted. “You’ve hurt him dreadfully already. See how his nose is bleeding.” “So’s mine,” said Paul, putting his hand up to his face. “Oh, I say, isn’t it awful?” And suddenly the brave hero began to cry. [Illustration: “SHE’S GOT THE BIG FELLOW DOWN.”--_Page 128._] Five minutes later three very subdued, conscience-smitten children had left Avenue A behind them and were slowly making their way back in the direction of Washington Square. Two of the three were looking decidedly the worse for wear. Dulcie’s hair-ribbon was gone, and her hat had lost all semblance of shape, and Paul’s face was covered with blood, which still continued to pour from his nose, and one of his eyes was almost closed. “Are you suffering very much, Paul?” Molly inquired anxiously. “My head aches, and I feel sort of queer all over,” answered Paul, “but I’m not sorry I did it. I’d do it right over again if I had to.” “Oh, what will your mother do when she sees you?” moaned Dulcie, “and I promised to look after you, too. My goodness! won’t we be punished?” “I’ll never, never try to help a stolen child find her family again, not as long as I live,” declared Molly. “We were only trying to be kind, and do our duty, and just see what happened.”