She was conscious of an absurd thankfulness and relief that she had no well.
"And there ain't no pond round here big enough to drown a baby kitten, except that little mud-puddle up at Fisher's, and they've dragged every inch of that.

I see 'em." All this time Edwin Shaw had been teetering on uncertain toes on the borders of the crowd.

He remembered the child with the doll whom he had seen climbing into the New York train in the morning, and he was eager to tell of it, to make himself of importance, but he was afraid.

After all, the child might not have been Evelyn.

There were so many little, yellow-haired things with dolls to be seen about, and then there was the stout woman to be accounted for.