Now G.F.F.F.S. had lots of life and very little money, so she could
hardly determine whether to give up some of her life or all of her
money.

"Illustrious banditti," said she, "the auriferous contents of my
reticulated depository are notable for minuteness. Be conservators of my
pullulating existence."

"I say, TOM," said the leader, "what's her little game?"

"It sounds like Irish," said TOM.

"Hand over your stamps," said the leader.

G.F.F.F.S. slowly drew out her net purse, when suddenly the robbers
fled. G.F.F.F.S. felt that her hero had come, and, like all the
ARAMINTAS in the novels, she fainted and was caught in the arms of--

CHAPTER III.

The author tried to persuade the editor to allow him to write "to be
continued" after the last thrilling chapter, but the editor was
inexorable, hence this chapter, "in the arms of"--a little red-headed
policeman.

G.F.F.F.S. smiled gently, but, as soon as she had opened her eyes, and
had cast them on the red head, freckled face, pug-nose, and little eyes
of MIKE MCFLYNN, she sprang to her feet. It was better than forty
gallons of hartshorn. She had wasted a faint.