It was early Spring. A warm sun shone down upon the city street. On the edge of the narrow brick sidewalk a little girl was sitting.

Her gingham dress was old and shabby. The short, brown coat had lost all its buttons, and a rusty pin held it together.

A faded blue cap partly covered her brown hair, which hung in short, loose curls around her face.

She had been sitting there almost an hour when a policeman came along.

“I wonder where that girl belongs,” he said, as he looked down at her. “She is a new one on Chambers Street.”

He walked on, but he looked back as he walked, to see if she went away.

The child slowly raised her big, brown eyes to look after him. She watched him till he reached the corner by the meat shop; then she looked down and began to kick at the stones with her thin boots.

At this moment a bell rang. A door opened in a building across the street, and many children came out.

As they passed the little girl, some of them looked at her. One little boy bent down to see her face, but she hid it under her arm.

“What are you afraid of?” he asked. “Who’s going to hurt you?”

She did not answer.

Another boy opened his lunch box as he passed, and shook out the pieces of bread, left from his lunch.

Soon the children were gone, and the street was quiet again.

The little girl kicked at the stones a few minutes; then she looked up. No one was looking at her, so she reached out one little hand and picked up a crust of bread.

In a wink the bread was in her mouth. She reached out for another, brushed off a little dirt, and ate that also.

Just then the policeman came down the street from the other corner. The child quickly bent her head and looked down.

This time he came to where she sat, and stopped.

“Are you going to sit here all day, little girl?” he asked.

She did not answer.

“Your mother will be looking for you. You’d better run home now, like a good girl. Where do you live, anyway?”

He bent down and lifted her chin, so she had to look up at him.

“Where do you live, miss? Tell us now, that’s a good girl.”

“I don’t know.” The child spoke slowly, half afraid.

“O come now, of course you know, a big girl like you ought to know. What’s the name of the street?”

“I don’t know.”

“Ah, you’re only afraid of me. Don’t be afraid of Jim Cunneen now. I’ve a little girl at home just about your age.”

He waited for her to answer, but she said nothing.

“Come miss, you must think. How can I take you home if you don’t tell me where you live?”

“I don’t know.”

“Oh, dear me! That is all I get for an answer. Well then, I’ll have to take you down to the station. May be you will find a tongue down there.”

As he spoke, he took hold of her arm to help her up. Then he tried one more question.

“What is your name?”

“My name is Clematis.”

As she spoke she moved her arm, and out from the coat peeped a kitten. It was white, with a black spot over one eye.

“There, that is better,” answered the policeman. “Now tell me your last name.”

“That is all the name I have, just Clematis.”

“Well then, what is your father’s name?”

“I haven’t any father.”

“Ah, that is too bad, dear. Then tell me your mother’s name.” He bent down lower to hear her reply.

“I haven’t any mother, either.”

“No father? No mother?” The policeman lifted her gently to her feet. “Well miss, we won’t stay here any longer. It is getting late.”

Just then the kitten stuck its head out from her coat and said, “Miew.”

It seemed very glad to move on.

“What’s that now, a cat? Where did you get that?”

“It is my kitty, my very own, so I kept it. I didn’t steal it. Its name is Deborah, and it is my very own.”

“Ah, now she is finding her tongue,” said the policeman, smiling; while Clematis hugged the kitten.

But the little girl could tell him no more, so he led her along the street toward the police station.

Before they had gone very far, they passed a baker’s shop.

In the window were rolls, and cookies, and buns, and little cakes with jam and frosting on them.

The smell of fresh bread came through the door.

“What is the matter, miss?” The man looked down, as Clematis stood still before the window.

She was looking through the glass, at the rolls, and cakes, and cookies.

The policeman smelled the fresh bread, and it made him hungry.

“Are you hungry, little girl?” he asked, looking down with a smile.

“Wouldn’t you be hungry if you hadn’t had anything to eat all day long?” Clematis looked up at him with tears in her big brown eyes.

“Nothing to eat all day? Why, you must be nearly starved!” As he spoke, the policeman started into the store, pulling Clematis after him.

She was so surprised that she almost dropped her kitten.

“Miew,” said poor Deborah, as if she knew they were going to starve no longer. But it was really because she was squeezed so tight she couldn’t help it.

“Now, Miss Clematis, do you see anything there you like?”

Jim Cunneen smiled down at Clematis, as she peeped through the glass case at the things inside.

She stood silent, with her nose right against the glass.

There were so many things to eat it almost took her breath away.

“Well, what do you say, little girl? Don’t you see anything you like?”

“May I choose anything I want?”

“Yes, miss. Just pick out what you like best.”

The lady behind the counter smiled, as the policeman lifted Clematis a little, so she could see better. There were cakes, and cookies, and buns, and doughnuts.

“May I have a cream cake?” asked Clematis.

“Of course you may. What else?” He lifted her a bit higher.

“Miew!” said Deborah, from under her coat.

“Oh, excuse me, cat,” he said, as he set Clematis down. “I forgot you were there too.”

The woman laughed, as she took out a cream cake, a cookie with nuts on it, and a doughnut.

“May I eat them now?” asked Clematis, as she took the bag.

“You start right in, and if that’s not enough, you can have more. But don’t forget the cat.”

Jim Cunneen laughed with the baker woman, while Clematis began to eat the doughnut, as they started out.

Before long they came to a brick building that had big doors.

“Here we are,” said the policeman. They turned, and went inside.

There another policeman was sitting at a desk behind a railing.

“Well, who comes here?” asked the policeman at the desk.

“That is more than I know,” replied Jim Cunneen. “I guess she’s lost out of the flower show. She says her name is Clematis.”

Clematis said nothing. Her mouth was full of cream cake now, and a little cream was running over her fingers.

Deborah was silent also. She was eating the last crumbs of the doughnut.

“Is that all you could find out?” The other man looked at Clematis.

“She says she has no father and no mother. Her cat is named Deborah. That is all she told me.”

“Oh, well, I guess you scared her, Jim. Let me ask her. I’ll find out.”

The new policeman smiled at Clematis. “Come on now, sister,” he said. “Tell us where you live. That’s a good girl.”

Clematis reached up one hand and took hold of her friend’s big finger. She looked at the new policeman a moment.

“If you didn’t know where you lived, how could you tell anyone?” she said.

Jim Cunneen laughed. He liked to feel her little hand.

“See how scared she is of me,” he said. “We are old friends now.”

Again they asked the little girl all the questions they could think of. But it was of no use. She could not tell them where she lived. She would not tell them very much about herself.

At last the Captain came in. They told him about this queer little girl.

He asked her questions also. Then he said:

“We shall have to send her to the Home. If anyone claims her he can find her there.”

So Clematis and Deborah were tucked into the big station wagon, and Jim Cunneen took her to the Home, where lost children are sheltered and fed.