class="c12">Where is Clematis?  

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.

“I don’t want to stay here if you are going