But he didn't pass, and her face grew very white as he stopped right in front of her and bent down to look into her face.
"He's God's child. He's God's child. He's God's child," she kept whispering to herself, and then suddenly all of the fear left her, though a moment before she had longed to scream and fly up the steps to the door.
Then the man spoke. "Is your name Margie, little girl?" he asked, and his voice was so soft and kind behind the big black beard, that Margie looked up into his face and smiled.
"Yes, sir," she said.
"And what is your last name?" he asked, setting down the basket and beginning to loosen the cover.
"Green. I'm Margie Green," she replied, her eyes on the basket.
"That's it. That's the name," said the man, smiling. "I've got something for you here, but didn't know whether I was going to find you or not. Your papa bought it for you this morning and asked me to bring it to you," and he reached into the basket and drew out the
