She sat in her corner, leaning wearily against the back of the cane seat, with a blanket spread over her lap.

Strangely enough the consideration of her fellow passengers left the girl in undisturbed possession of a double seat.
"Perhaps she is ill," thought Patsy, as she and Beth sat down opposite and entered into conversation with the child.

She was frankly communicative and they soon learned that her name was Myrtle Dean, and that she was an orphan.

Although scarcely fifteen years of age she had for more than two years gained a livelihood by working in a skirt factory in Chicago, paying her board regularly to a cross old aunt who was her only relative in the big city.

Three months ago, however, she had met with an accident, having been knocked down by an automobile while going to her work and seriously injured.
"The doctors say," she confided to her new friends, "that I shall always be lame, although not quite helpless.