“I don’t believe it,” says Hazel; “Luclarion has a cut, a great big buff one with green eyes.  She came in over the roofs, and she runs up here nights.  I shouldn’t wonder if there might be kittens, though,—­one of these days, at any rate.  Why! what a place to play ‘Dare’ in!  It goes way round, I don’t know where!  Look here, Desire!”

She sat on the threshold, that went up a step, over the beam, and so leaned in.  She had one eye toward the girl all the time, out of the shadow.  She beckoned and nodded, and Desire came.

At the same moment, the coast being clear, the girl gave a sudden scud across, and into the swing.  She began to scuff with her slipshod, twisted shoes, pushing herself.

Hazel gave another nod behind her to Desire.  Desire stood up, and as the swing came back, pushed gently, touching the board only.

The girl laughed out with the sudden thrill of the motion.  Desire pushed again.

Higher and higher, till the feet reached up to the window.

“There!” she cried; and kicked an old shoe off, out over the roof.  “I’ve lost my shoe!”

“Never mind; it’ll be down in the yard,” said Hazel.

Thereupon the child, at the height of her sweep again, kicked out the other one.

Desire and Hazel, together, pushed her for a quarter of an hour.

“Now let’s have ginger-cakes,” said Hazel, taking them out of her pocket, and leaving the “cat” to die.

Little Barefoot came down at that, with a run; hanging to the rope at one side, and dragging, till she tumbled in a sprawl upon the floor.

“You ought to have waited,” said Desire.

“Poh!  I don’t never wait!” cried the ragamuffin rubbing her elbows.  “I don’t care.”

“But it isn’t nice to tumble round,” suggested Hazel.

“I ain’t nice,” answered the child, and settled the subject.

“Well, these ginger-nuts are,” said Hazel.  “Here!”

“Have you had a good time?” she asked when the last one was eaten, and she led the way to go down-stairs.

“Good time!  That ain’t nothin’!  I’ve had a reg’lar bust!  I’m comin’ agin’; it’s bully.  Now I must get my loaf and my shoes, and go along back and take a lickin’.”

That was the way Hazel caught her first child.

She made her tell her name,—­Ann Fazackerley,—­and promise to come on Saturday afternoon, and bring two more girls with her.

“We’ll have a party,” said Hazel, “and play Puss in the Corner.  But you must get leave,” she added.  “Ask your mother.  I don’t want you to be punished when you go home.”

“Lor! you’re green!  I ain’t got no mother.  An’ I always hooks jack.  I’m licked reg’lar when I gets back, anyway.  There’s half a dozen of ’em.  When ’tain’t one, it’s another.  That’s Jane Goffey’s bread; she’s been a swearin’ after it this hour, you bet.  But I’ll come,—­see if I don’t!”

Hazel drew a hard breath as she let the girl go.  Back to her crowded cellar, her Jane Goffeys, the swearings, and the lickings.  What was one hour at a time, once or twice a week, to do against all this?