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But Rudanthy herself, lying flat in her mistress’ lap, had closed her own waxen lids and made no answer. The only one she could have made, indeed, would have been “Papa,” or “Mamma,” and that wouldn’t have been a “truly” answer, anyway.

Besides, just then a big man, shining with brass buttons and a brass-banded cap, came along and demanded:

“Tickets, please.”

Josephine clutched Rudanthy and woke that indolent creature rather suddenly.

“Dolly, dolly, sit up! The shiny-blue man is hollering at the people dreadful loud. Maybe it’s wrong for dolls to go to sleep in these railway things.”

“WHERE’S YOUR FOLKS?”

The shiny-blue man stopped right at Josephine’s seat, and demanded fiercely, or it sounded fierce to the little girl:

“Sissy, where’s your folks?”

“Please, I haven’t got any,” she answered politely.

“Who do you belong to, then?” asked he.

“I’m Mrs. John Smith’s little girl, Josephine,” she explained.

“Hmm. Well, where’s Mrs. John Smith?” he persisted.

“She’s gone away,” said she, wishing he, too, would go away.