he street," the man ended more
kindly, seeing the look of consternation on Madge's white face.

The girls walked sadly down the elevated steps, dragging their bags,
which seemed to grow heavier with every moment. They found themselves in
one of the downtown foreign slums of New York City. It was a bright,
early summer afternoon. The streets were swarming with grown people and
children. Pushcarts lined the sidewalks. On an opposite corner a hand
organ played an Italian song. In front of it was a small open space,
encircled by a group of idle men and women. Before the organ danced a
little figure that Madge and Eleanor stopped to watch. They forgot their
own bewilderment in gazing at the strange sight. The dancer was a little
girl about twelve years old, as thin as a wraith. Her hair was black and
hung in straight, short locks to her shoulders. Her eyes were so big and
burned so brightly that it was difficult to notice any other feature of
her face. The child looked like a tropical flower. Her face was white,
but her cheeks glowed with two scarlet patches. She flung her little arms
over her head, pirouetted and stood on her tip toes. She did not seem to
see the curious crowd about her, but kept her eyes turned toward the sky.
Her dancing was as much a part of nature as the summer sunshine, and
Madge and Eleanor were bewitched.

A rough woman came out of a nearby doorway. She stood with her hands on
her hips looking in the direction of the music. "Tania!" she called
angrily. Elbowing her way through the crowd, she jostled Madge as she
passed by her. "Tania!" she cried again. The men and women spectators let
the woman make her way through them as though they knew her and were
afraid of her heavy fist. Only the child appeared to be unconscious of
the woman's approach. Suddenly a big, red arm was thrust out. It caught
the little girl by the skirt. With the other hand she rained down blows
on the child's upturned face. One blow followed the other in swift
succession. The little dancer made no outcry. She simply put one thin arm
over her head for protection.

The music went on gayly. No one of the watching men and women tried to
stop the woman's brutality. But Madge was not used to the indifference of
the New York crowd. Like a flash of lightning she darted away from
Eleanor and rushed over to the woman, who was dragging the child along
and cuffing her at each step.

"Stop striking that child!" she ordered sharply. "How can