"...Torch continue[d] with the next part of the story- this time, someone else's..."

"Now," Torch continued, "while Crutchy and I (and all our younger siblings) were living in that old house, a certain girl and boy were living in England, both trying to get to America..."


"Hey Patrick! C'mon! We're going to celebrate Guy Fawke's Day with the Georges today, remember!"

Rags jumped on top of the pile of sacks which served as his bed, expecting him to jump up, striking at the air with his fists and yelling.

Nothing.

An icy chill went down the girl's spine. Fear gripped her.

"Patrick?" She whispered, trembling.

When living on the streets, you never knew when you may try to wake someone up, only to find that they are dead.

Shaking, she pulled back the thin sack that served as a blanket, to find-

Nothing.

Rags breathed out a sigh of relief. Well, at least that was progress. Maybe he had gotten up unusually early. Where would he have gone?

Well, he probably had not gone to the park, which was where we had been going to celebrate; he didn't want to celebrate in the first place.

Then Rags thought of something. Could he have possibly... gone to America without her? After all their plans together about going...

Impossible! She told herself, but she knew she didn't believe it. Rags ran, almost unwillingly, to the docks.

And bit back a scream of rage.

For there was Patrick, his meager baggage in hand, waiting to board a ship with his usually-drunk father, who Rags hadn't seen for many a month, not since he'd kicked Patrick out.

But the only thought on her mind just then was- Patrick's deserting me!

0o0o0o0o0o0

Rags ran up to Patrick. "Patrick Conlon, what the rudd-"

"I'm soory, Rags-." he began in his strong Irish accent; then glanced over at his father and pulled her aside. "Pa wants to go to America. And withoot you. He says I've goot to coome, and that you can't."

Rags was stunned. "But- but surely you could-"

He gently, but firmly, covered her mouth with his hand. "Noo. I'm soory Rags. But if he finds you oot, he might beat ye to death. He's soo unpredictable. Ye have to watch ye'r step."

Rags was no longer angry, merely confused and deeply hurt now.

He sighed. "Here," he whispered, and pressed something into Rags' hand. "I want you to have this."

She looked down at it. It was his key. She gave him hers- and a hug.

"P-promise you won't forget me!" She whispered tearfully into his ear.

"I woon't." he promised. "Niver. And- goodbye- Laura."

She smiled at him through her tears. "Goodbye, Patrick!"

She watched him as they boarded the ship.

Sometimes she lost sight of them because of the crowd, but she nearly always kept the blonde head in view.

They had tied the keys on old, dirty strings around their necks, and as the ship pulled out of harbour, and began slowly sailing away, Patrick lifted the key in silent salute and waved.

Rags did the same, and when she had watched the ship 'till it was out of sight, she ran back to his pile of dirty sacks and rags and threw herself face-downwards and wept.


Cocky's face was a mask of supreme shock. "How did you know?" She asked, her voice shaking with passion.

Torch shrugged and sighed. "Spot told me." Then she smiled slightly at Cocky. "Would you like to tell us how you got from England to here? And what you've been doing all this time?"

Cocky nodded slowly and began. "After I'd lain there for some time..."