Respite

       
The policeman ushered me toward the others, who were in various states of distress--the little ones whimpered while the older children's faces betrayed worrisome and anxious spirits. The teachers and staff attempted to calm them with soothing words as the police stood about, themselves appearing apprehensive and nervous. I saw among the multitudes little Janie Hopewell who, although two years older than me, had become my dearest companion at the orphanage. Eight year-old Janie pushed through the uneasy throng.

     “Melanie!” she cried happily as she threw her arms around me, “I knew you were here! I have been looking for you!” I stood mutely, unable to reciprocate. My arms hung limply at my sides.

     
     “What’s wrong, Melanie?” Janie inquired as she stepped back. “We are safe!” I had no reply. Miss Hinton, my teacher, then came forward. She also embraced me.

     “Oh, Melanie,” she said, “I thought we had lost you! We have been going through all the children. With you, we have all now made it safely here!” She hugged me again. Again, as with Janie, I made no response. A strange feeling had swept over me, a sudden desolation of spirit that rendered me incapable of returning their devoted embraces.

     “You are injured!” Miss Hinton exclaimed as she drew her hands, now stained with my blood, away. My frock was bloodied as well. “I will get something to dress the wound!” Miss Hinton left to get some treatment for me while Janie continued to stare. 

     “I know that it is bad out there,” she said gravely, her eyes glazed with tears. “And I heard that our home is burned to the ground.” I could say nothing in reply.

     “Oh, Melanie, what has happened to you?” she pleaded as she began to cry. I averted my eyes, and Janie moved away. Miss Hinton returned with a damp cloth and a white dressing pad, and a pair of scissors. There was no room to sit, so she began to clean and dress my wound in the midst of the crowded precinct. Because of the blood that had matted my hair, she cut away my locks so as to clean the wound properly.
  
     As she treated my injury, Miss Hinton asked me several questions, but I remained silent. Oh, I wanted so much to share the burden of the horrors that I had seen, but for some reason, I could not. 

     The young policeman who had led me inside watched as Miss Hinton plied me with questions.

     “She’s seen some sights, Miss, some terrible sights,” he interrupted, a piteous look on his face. “It is pretty bad out there.” He came over to us and whispered in her ear. I could not hear what he said, but Miss Hinton nodded as he stepped away, and she asked me no more questions. 

     Moments later, it seemed, the police station was suddenly abuzz with activity. The telegraph machine was clicking away furiously, and the police moved swiftly about, their ruddy faces creased with concern. From what I was able to put together from several bits of conversation, reports had come in that the mob was now coming our way.

      “The crowd says they are coming to sack the building,” said the policeman reading the telegraph message. I looked about. There were only a handful of policemen left, with one superior, whom the others had addressed as “sergeant.” The mob I had seen numbered dozens of people who, by now, might be in the hundreds.

     How could a few policemen contain such an ungodly and diabolical crowd intent on destroying more than 200 hundred helpless children?

[TO BE CONTINUED.]