The next night was a big rally with all the newsies. "It migh' be a li'l rough," Mush told me. "Maybe you'd best stay heah tonight."

"But Jack's taking Sarah!" I protested. "I heard him talking about it."

"I'd feel better abou' it," he said, looking me in the eyes. "I worry. Not 'bout you takin' care o' yerself, course, but the udder boys. Da boys from outta Manhattan. I don' know all of 'em so good, an' I worry abou' what they migh' do t' ya."

"If you want me to stay here, I will," I answered with a smile. "I'll work on darning that shirt." Somehow the day before he'd managed to rip his green shirt, and so he'd been wearing only his white one. I had promised him I'd fix it but had yet to find the time. (A/N: All right, so Mush goes a while without the green shirt, and he has it again for the rally. So sue me.)

He kissed my cheek. "I love ya, Daffodil. You'se da greatest."

He pulled on a tweed suit jacket and left with the rest of the boys. I smiled as I got to work on his shirt.

"Hey, Daffodil," said Mr. Kloppman half an hour later, looking in the room. "I saw your candle. I thought everyone was at the rally, and that Snipeshooter had left a candle burning again." He laughed to himself. "So what're you doing here?"

I smiled. "Mush is overprotective of me. He didn't want me getting hurt there." I held up his shirt, which was laying on my lap while I read. "And I had to sew his shirt for him."

He came over and looked at the shirt. "Say, you did a nice job with that!" he told me. "You had much practice sewing?"

"Oh, I used to have to do needlework at my home," I answered. "See?" From my suitcase, I pulled a needlepoint sampler I'd made, with the words "Home Sweet Home" and some New York buildings.

"Say, that's mighty pretty. Maybe you could get a job sewing at a lady's shop or something," he suggested.

I ducked my head. "I don't think so, sir. I'd—I'd rather stay with Mush."

At that moment, there came a great shuffle at the stairs. "Mr. Kloppman! Mr. Kloppman!" someone shouted.

"What's wrong?" Mr. Kloppman answered, walking to the door just as a gang of newsies entered.

"The bulls broke up the rally! They arrested half the fellas!" Snitch said, his eyes darting wildly.

"Mush?" I asked, standing up and letting the shirt fall to the floor.

"Yeah, him too," Snitch answered, looking at me. "I'se sorry, Daffodil."

That night was cold and lonely, without the mumblings from Jack and Mush (who, besides talking, often laughed – loudly – in his sleep, until the other boys threw boots or hats at him) and just the knowledge that the boys were there. I opted to leave Crutchy's bed for the night and instead slept in Mush's. His scent was all over it, and I felt safe. Even though I wasn't scared of the newsies who remained, I wasn't as comfortable around them, either. There was nothing I wanted more than to visit Mush, but knew there was no way I could.

I didn't go out to sell papers the next day, just sat in Mush's bed and cried.

"Don' worry, Daffodil," Specs told me comfortingly. "He'll be back soon." Specs was the only other one who'd stayed in that day. He hadn't felt well.

Just as the words left his mouth, there was a clamor on the stairs. "Daffodil?" came a voice.

"Mush!" I called happily, raising and brushing the tears from my cheeks.

"Denton paid our bail," he told me with a smile. "C'mon, we's all gatherin' to have a drink."

We made Specs come with us, then headed down to Tibby's. Denton came in and Mush went over to thank him, then came back over to me. I was sorry when Denton said he was no longer allowed to cover the Newsies strike for the Sun newspaper, but I didn't know him, so I didn't feel the loss like the boys did.

Over the next few days, the strike ended. It seemed regular to me, the days; since I hadn't known the newsies particularly before the strike, the days seemed normal. But once the strike was over, I found that life as a newsie was a lot more fun.

"Yahoo!" Mush yelled as he and I finished selling our morning's World papers in record time. "Ya up fer swimmin', lil lady?" He grabbed my hand and we went down to Spot Conlon territory.

"Hiya, Spot!" Mush called happily when he saw him. "I believe youse remember me goil, Daffodil?"

"O' course I do," Spot answered, kissing my hand. I smiled at him. He was a funny newsie, as infamous for his selling ability as he was for his use of relating everything back to Brooklyn. He had become one of my favorites of Mush's friends, even though I'd only met him once or twice before.

"Is it a'right if we's go swimmin' wi' yer crew?" Mush asked.

Spot gave us the once-over. "S'okay with me. Is any udder of youse Manhattan boys comin'?"

"I dunno," Mush answered. "I t'ink Jack said he might'n be down."

"Good," Spot said, nodding his head. "I'se been wantin' t' talk t' 'im."

Mush stripped down, tearing off his shirts and knickers, and throwing them in a solitary open spot. All the Brooklyn newsies were watching us, and I felt uneasy. "C'mon, Daffodil," Mush whispered. "They'll stop aftah ya get in. Dey don' really trus' us Manhattans."

Luckily, at that moment, Jack came wandering in with a grin and half the Manhattan boys in tow. "Spot!" he called, spitting on his hand. Spot spit on his too and they shook hands.

"Daffodil!" Racetrack said when he caught sight of me. "Deah me! Is you goin' swimmin'?" He placed a hand over his heart and staggered around, as if the idea caused him a heart attack. The rest of the boys laughed.

"I don't know, Racetrack," I answered, looking at my hands. I wished beyond wishing I'd packed my swimming dress when I'd run from home; then again, I hadn't thought that I'd need it. The truth was, I'd only gone swimming in small ponds before. This was definitely NOT a pond; rivers are a whole other story.

"Aw, c'mon then," Mush said, disappointment all over his face.

"You go ahead, Mush. I'll just sit this one out. Maybe next time," I offered. He looked at me forlornly, but couldn't keep the look on his face for long. Soon it had turned into Mush's usual full-blown grin. He turned and jumped in the water. Spot and Jack had a little talk, and, soon, all the Manhattan boys had joined in, swimming with the Brooklyn boys.

All the Brooklyn boys, that is, except Spot Conlon.