The days sped by. The summer heat deepened and there were thankful hearts in the vine-covered in Mt. Vernon Place. For Bonny-Gay was well again; able to run about her beloved park, and to play in the shadow of the lion with the few children left still in that part of the city.  
Nearly all the big houses were now closed, however, and their owners departed to seashore or mountain. The McClures themselves were making preparations for their own summer flitting to the great country house of which the little girls had talked. They would have still enjoyed being together, but that could no longer be.
 
A very few days after Mary Jane had made her business contract with the Gray Gentleman, and he had himself spoken to the conductors of the cars upon which she would have to take her daily ride—so that everything was made easy and safe for her—those rides had ceased. William Bump returned as suddenly as he had departed, and, with all his old enmity against more fortunate folk, had immediately forbidden them.
 
But Mrs. Bump had herself gone to Mrs. McClure and explained enough of matters to prove that Mary Jane was neither ungrateful nor forgetful; and Mrs. McClure had accepted the explanation with great cheerfulness. It was a much easier way out of a difficult position than she had anticipated; because Bonny-Gay still talked about Mary Jane with them to the country, and this her mother did not at all desire.
 
However, a compromise was effected. Mary Jane was to be asked to care for the thirteen dolls, the two canaries, the , and Polly; only the being allowed to accompany his little mistress on her summer outing. So, one morning, the carriage came around again and all these creatures were stowed in it, along with Bonny-Gay and a maid. They had been taken straight to street, where[134] they were left with many injunctions and much advice, as to their proper care. Then the two little “Sunday bairns” had kissed each other many times, and had torn themselves weeping from each other’s embrace, while the maid looked coldly on, urging:
 
“If you please, Miss McClure, you would much better be going. The train goes at two o’clock and there’s much to pack, still.”
 
“Very well, Hawkins. I’m coming. Good-bye, Mary Jane, dear, dear Mary Jane! I’ll write you as soon as I get there and maybe, maybe, your father and my mother will let you come out to our house and make me a beautiful long visit. I’d teach you to ride on the pony just the same as if your legs were good, or in the goat cart or—”
 
“Come, come, Miss Bonny-Gay!” called Hawkins.
 
The coachman cracked his whip, there was a last glimpse of a bare sunny head thrust from the carriage window, the tossing of ecstatic kisses, and Bonny-Gay had passed out of Mary Jane’s life, probably forever. That is, if the intentions of her parents could be carried out. When they returned, in the autumn, a man could be dispatched for the dolls and things, if their owner still desired them. If not, they might remain the property of the small Bumps, and so well rid of them. The parrot had been misbehaving of late, and using expressions not wholly suited to the of Mt. Vernon Place. Originally owned and trained by a man of the “slums,” she was returning to the rude speech of earlier years.
 
But she was well received in the Bump household, save by William, its head. He had frowned upon the coming into it of Bonny-Gay’s treasures and only consented to the arrangement because of Mary Jane’s disappointment. For ever since his return the father and daughter had been always together and each seemed doubly anxious to do nothing that would give the other pain. And after a time, even he became interested in the queer bird and joined his children in it to talk; though his interest was not won until there sounded along the street a familiar cry, to which nobody paid much except Polly.
 
She was suddenly transformed. She fluttered her feathers, stretched her neck, cocked her head on one side, and in a tone that was almost human in its burst :
 
“Crab-crab-crab-crab—crab-crab-crab! Devil-devilled-devil-devilled-crabs! Heah’s-de-crab-man! Is yo’ hongry? Crab-man-goin’-to-baid-now! Dis yo’ las’ chance for yo’ nice-fried-hot-fried-devil-devilled-crabs! C-R-A-B-S! OU-OU-OUCH!”
 
After which exploit mistress Polly became the of Dingy street and even of William Bump.
 
The of her new charges, so that they should not take up too much space in her little home, and the careful packing away in the top-cupboard of the food Bonny-Gay had provided for her pets, kept Mary Jane busy all morning; and her mother had dinner on the table before she observed how the time had flown. But when she heard the cheerful summons:
 
“Come, father. Come children!” and smelled the freshly cooked fish, she realized that she had given more attention than she meant to her new cares.
 
“Oh! mother, I didn’t think I was so long! And I wanted to get my part of the ironing done; because I promised Bonny-Gay that I’d go to the park, if you could spare me, and watch her train go by. It’s that fast express, that whizzes so; but she’s to sit on the park side the car, she called it, and she’s to watch for me and I for her. She’ll wave and I’ll wave and that will be our really last good-by. Till she comes home again.”
 
“That would be how-de-do? Wouldn’t it, child? And the ironing’s all right. I’ve done that so, if father wants to go watch the men this afternoon, you can go with him. Now eat your dinner and be thankful for all your .”
 
Everybody was always hungry at that table and the dinner was soon over. Then William Bump arose, put on his hat, whistled to a big black dog who lay on the doorstep and started off for his afternoon of loafing.
 
Mary Jane watched the pair with a pitying love.
 
“Those two seem just alike, some ways, don’t they mother? Father lost his home and his work and so did Max. Dearly as Bonny-Gay loves that dog, ever since he got her hurt, he doesn’t want to be with her like he used. Didn’t you notice, this morning? When she hugged him and bade him good-by, he was just a little pleased; yet he kept one eye on father and soon’s he could walked back and lay down beside him. Father is dreadful good to Max, isn’t he? He often says he’d never have come back if it hadn’t been for—for us—”
 
“For you, daughter. Mostly for you, it was, dear.”
 
“Well, Max helped. He staid right close and like. Oh! I do wish the Company would give father another try.”
 
“It won’t. But I’m in hopes, after awhile, he’ll find something else to do. Meanwhile you stay close to him. Don’t give him a chance to get down-hearted again and—you know. Didn’t you say your Gray Gentleman was coming to the park to look at the ‘farms’ this very day? Why, maybe, child, maybe he’d know of a job somewhere. You might ask him.”
 
“Yes, I might. I will. What’s father going to do now? he’s taken to the track.”
 
“He says that, though he has no work there, there isn’t any law forbids him sitting round, watching his old friends who have. He likes to talk with men, you know; and if you’re handy by he’s quite satisfied. Father doesn’t like to go wrong any better than we like to have him. He trusts you to watch out for him, honey. So, if I were you, instead of taking the baby and going along the street to the gate I’d go to the park by the railroad. You can climb up the embankment at an easy place, and stay near father. Then you’d be able to see everything. The children in the ‘Playgrounds,’ and the Gray Gentleman if he goes to them, and Bonny-Gay’s train when it comes, and all. Only—only, Mary Jane—take care to give the cars plenty of room.”
 
“Course I will. ‘Look out for the cars when the bell rings!’” laughingly quoted the child. “And you look out for the parrot when the crab-man comes! I guess you’re right. I’d better not take the baby. If I climb up the bank I might let him slip. Good-by. I’ll make father all right and happy, don’t you fear.”
 
The mother watched her darling out of sight, thinking how sunshiny and helpful she was, then settled the baby safely among his new playthings and resumed her endless . But she was wholly happy and now. They were poor, indeed, but they were not suffering, and her hopeful heart was sure that in some way a task would be found for her husband which would keep him out of idleness and evil company. She began her one of cheerfulness: “Lord, in the morning Thou shalt, Thou shalt, Lord, in the morning Thou shalt hear, my voice high.”
 
Meanwhile, Mary Jane had along the road till she came to a part of the railway embankment which she could climb, then to its top. Just before her the rails were laid over a long trestle above the deep bed of a stream, now almost dry. A little water still ran among the stones below but Mary Jane did not look down upon that. She made her way swiftly, yet cautiously, beside the track, pushed rapidly along the trestle, and reached her father’s side, at the further end of it.
 
“Here am I, father. I’m going to watch for the train from here.”
 
“All right, daughter.”
 
A fellow workman looked up and :
 
“You oughtn’t to let that girl walk that trestle, Bump. If her slipped it—the bottom’s rough and deep down.”
 
“Oh! I’m not afraid. I don’t often, either, though I’ve played about this railroad ever since I was born. ............