She waited for Janet until afternoon, when it was time for her to go about her business as paper-carrier. She was sure now that something serious had happened to Janet. To the child of a man like Dave McFadden something serious might happen almost any time. On the first part of her route Rosie gave herself up to all sorts of horrible imaginings. Then, in the excitement of a long talk with Danny Agin on the subject of George Riley, she forgot Janet and did not think of her again until she reached home. Janet was there on the porch awaiting her. "Poor Janet's in trouble," Mrs. O'Brien began at once. This was evident enough from the expression of Janet's face. "What is it, Janet? What's happened?" Rosie put a sympathetic arm about Janet's shoulder and peered anxiously into her somber eyes. "Her poor ma's been took sick," Mrs. O'Brien continued. "Oh, Janet, I'm sorry! Is it serious?" "Horspital," Mrs. O'Brien announced. "Hospital!" Rosie repeated. Then it was serious! "When did it happen, Janet?" "This morning." Janet spoke quietly in a tired colourless voice. "Were you at home, Janet?" "No. On the street." "Did they send for an ambulance?" "Yes." "Did they take you to the hospital, too?" "Yes." "Well, Janet, what did the doctor say?" "He said lots of things." "Didn't he say your mother would be all right soon?" "He said that depends." "What does it depend on, Janet?" Janet laughed, a weak pathetic little laugh that had no mirth in it. "He said she might get well again if she didn't have to work or worry any more. Huh! It's easy to say a thing like that to a poor woman that's got to work or starve, but it would be a good deal more sensible if they'd say right out: 'You better go drown yourself!'" "Why, Janet!" Mrs. O'Brien's hands went up in shocked amazement. "I mean it!" Janet insisted fiercely. "Do you suppose my mother works like she does because she wants to? I'd like to see that doctor married to a drunk and have some one say to him: 'Now don't work or worry and you'll be all right.'" Mrs. O'Brien was much distressed. "Why, Janet dear, you surprise me to be talkin' so about that poor doctor." "The doctor!" Janet turned on Mrs. O'Brien passionately. "I'm not talking about the doctor! I'm talking about my father!" She paused an instant, then flung out a terrible epithet which even in the mouth of a rough man would have been shocking. Instinctively Rosie shrank and Mrs. O'Brien raised a startled, disapproving hand. Janet tossed her head defiantly. "I don't care!" she insisted. "It's all his fault, the drunken brute, and if my mother dies tonight, it'll be him that's murdered her!" She ended with a sob and hid her face on Rosie's shoulder.