"She looked so hungry," she said. "She was even hungrier than I was."
"She was starving," said the woman. "Many 's the time she 's told me of it since—how she sat there in the wet, and felt as if a wolf was a-tearing at her poor young insides."
"Oh, have you seen her since then?" exclaimed Sara. "Do you know where she is?"
"Yes, I do," answered the woman, smiling more good-naturedly than ever. "Why, she 's in that there back room, miss, an' has been for a month; an' a decent, well-meanin' girl she 's goin' to turn out, an' such a help to me in the shop an' in the kitchen as you 'd scarce believe, knowin' how she 's lived."
She stepped to the door of the little back parlor and spoke; and the next minute a girl came out and followed her behind the counter. And actually it was the beggar-child, clean and neatly clothed, and looking as if she had not been hungry for a long time. She looked shy, but she had a nice face, now that she was no longer a savage, and the wild look had gone from her eyes. She knew Sara in an instant, and stood and looked at her as if she could never look enough.
"You see," said the woman, "I told her to come when she was hungry, and when she 'd come I 'd give her odd jobs to do; an' I found she was willing, and somehow I got to like her; and the end of it was, I 've given her a place an' a home, and she helps me, an' behaves well, an' is as thankful as a girl can be. Her name 's Anne. She has no other."
