It was not until Slip had mentioned dinner that I realized I was hungry. So I willingly followed him to the marketplace.

We weren't too far; a few blocks, at most. We picked up three apples and a loaf of brown bread. Simple, filling and cheap. I would soon grow accustomed to this meal; later on, when I was older, I would occasionally get a tomato or a bag of broken cake or something to add variety. Or if I didn't sell all my papers I would eat those remaining.

After our meal, partaken of while sitting on a bench in Prospect Park, we set out to the lodging house.

The lodging house had four floors: the top floor was the attic, the third floor was for the girls (because it was warmer up there in the winter) the second floor was for the boys, and the main floor was the common room (though the mingling and flirting between the two genders was usually saved for outside the lodging house) and sign-in station. We had five volunteer matrons from various church societies and five volunteer wardens from more church societies. (Not refuge-type wardens; just older men who had been approved to work around children and keep young men and women from mixing. All of them were nice, except for one rather eerie fellow, but that situation was bound to happen anyway and was resolved before anything could happen.)

Rent was reasonable, and I was well protected by the older girls who found me just utterly adorable. This was a setback too, though. I never had a moment to myself because "life on the streets is tough, and we can't let a sweet little thing like you get hurt!".

Every night there was a different girl who insisted on combing my hair, and every morning another girl who styled it, usually in two braided pigtails or one French braid, the latter being my favorite.

It wasn't that I was the youngest in the lodging house, (though I was, but only by two months) or that I was the cutest; it was that I was one of the three who allowed their hair to be played with. The other two were Rosie and Jenny; we were all three best friends, of course. We never had the "third wheel" problem.

I always sold with a girl named Pepper. She was fifteen. We both had the same ginger-root hair color, and the same hazel eyes, so we could pass for sisters. She also happened to be the young woman Slip, had winked at while telling me what "making out" was. Pepper responded by blushing. I, being ten, was entirely disgusted, though the embarassment of that could not hold a candle to the discussion Pepper and another girl had with Rosie, Jenny and me when we three were all thirteen. I'm sure I don't need to elaborate any further on that subject.

Every morning I willingly set off hand in hand with Pepper, who Slip sought out every morning, and after a kiss betweent the two (a thwarted one; usually one of the matrons caught them) we were off.

I was grateful to have Pepper as a selling partner. I did not have the streets memorized. Remember when I said that I couldn't stand the little Queens apartment anymore? That apartment was really my room; I had to earn board from my parents by working in the kitchen. I was washing dishes at three and scrambling eggs at five. My world consisted of the kitchen and Hattie and Robina the Scottish cook and the butler Hewitt.

But I soon found another world: the outside world, where I had to look out for carts and rival gangs and criminals. But it was a world I enjoyed; I had the newsies, after all. What more did I need?

Pepper especially became like a big sister to me. When I needed to let out the seams of my frock, Pepper brought out scissors and needle and thread and taught me how. When I was sad, she cheered me up.

Pepper and I had many adventures together. Our great escapades consisted of running from the cops after throwing dirt clods at them, making up headlines and meandering through Prospect Park until we met Slip. Then I was on my own; not forgotten, no. My time with Pepper was just over, and I found my own amusment. First the boys my age would allow me to play marbles with them, then later on after it was obvious that I was not a novice (the servants children and I would always play marbles after chores on rainy days) I was not allowed to play under the pretense that it was a "boys only game." No matter. I would just go back to the lodging house and the other girls would play with my hair, or I would read a book (there were actually several floating around).

Later I had the brilliant idea to bring a book with me wherever I went. I recived odd looks from passerby in the park as I sat on the ground with my back against a tree and read Oliver Twist or Treasure Island while on the other side of the same tree a teenage girl who looked just like me and boy who looked to be about the same age as the teenage girl rudely showed affection in public. I do admit Pepper and Slip swapping saliva isn't the most pleasant sight, but I'm sure everyone else has done it at some point, too.

Life was hard, but fun. I had a rare day every once in a while when I wouldn't sell all my papers. But I would just eat the leftovers, or sell them at half price to fish mongers to wrap up their fish in. Once again, the latter option was my favorite; I didn't earn a profit, but I was able to get rid of them without having to eat them.

We always found something to amuse ourselves, usually marbles or slingshots. Spot taught me how to make and use a slingshot. I wasn't the best at it, but I still was a fair shot.

If there was nothing else to do, I would lie on my bed and close my eyes and make up a story to myself in my head. My stories usually consisted of me finding out that Pepper really was my sister, and that my parents really just took me off the streets for free labor, and how Pepper and I found out we were really princesses. Or I would take a book that I read and put myself in the main characters place. Sometimes I would wake up in the morning thinking the stories I made up were true. Then I remembered.

Sometimes, but only very late at night, I would imagine seeing all the people from my old life again. How, maybe, maybe my parents really did love me. But then I remembered again.

I actually did see Hattie once; I almost ran over to her to say hello when I saw my mother next to her. Just at that moment my mother turned her head and made actual eye contact with me. Recognition of her second, shameful daughter came instantly; after all, I was still in the same grey-blue knee-length dress and white pinafore.

I grabbed Pepper's hand and ran, pausing to explain only when we were two blocks away. Pepper gave me a sympathetic look. One of the many things I loved about Pepper is that she would not push. She just nodded when I finished and assured me that if Mother came around with the cops we would deny everything and say my name was Lily and her name was Christina and we were selling papers to help pay for our brother John's medication because he had a bad cough. The police usually stayed away from kids who said they lived with someone who was ill. We continued to sell our papers, and, luckily, no cops came.

---

I suppose that we just lived; it wasn't hard. We would play, and laugh, and cry. My life was just my life: nothing more, nothing less. Sundays I went to Mass, if I remembered, that is. I practiced using my slingshot, and I got into fistfights over silly things, only to be pulled out by Spot. I had the curious feeling that I had be assigned to Spot so he could take care of me. I didn't really like that, of course, but one didn't argue with Slip (who was leader.)

Ten, eleven, twelve years old. The years seemed to fly. Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen. And now finally sixteen.

But, I suppose you would like elaboration on each year of my life, no?