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"Why don't you go home?"
The bundle moved, and answered something in
a low, moaning voice. Gemma came across to
look, and saw a child of about six years old,
ragged and dirty, crouching on the pavement like a
frightened animal. The Gadfly was bending down
with his hand on the unkempt head.
"What is it?" he said, stooping lower to catch
the unintelligible answer. "You ought to go
home to bed; little boys have no business out of
doors at night; you'll be quite frozen! Give me
your hand and jump up like a man! Where do
you live?"
He took the child's arm to raise him. The result
was a sharp scream and a quick shrinking away.
"Why, what is it?" the Gadfly asked, kneeling
down on the pavement. "Ah! Signora, look
here!"
The child's shoulder and jacket were covered
with blood.
"Tell me what has happened?" the Gadfly
went on caressingly. "It wasn't a fall, was it?
No? Someone's been beating you? I thought
so! Who was it?"
"My uncle."
"Ah, yes! And when was it?"
"This morning.


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