"Perhaps we'd better give up and go home," suggested Dan.

"You can go home if you like," said the Story Girl scornfully.
"But I am going to see Mr. Campbell. I know I can manage him.
But if I have to go alone, and he gives me anything, I'll keep it
all for my own collection, mind you."

That settled it. We were not going to let the Story Girl get
ahead of us in the manner of collecting.

Mr. Campbell's housekeeper ushered us into his parlour and left
us. Presently Mr. Campbell himself was standing in the doorway,
looking us over. We took heart of grace. It seemed to be one of
his good days, for there was a quizzical smile on his broad,
clean-shaven, strongly-featured face. Mr. Campbell was a tall
man, with a massive head, well thatched with thick, black hair,
gray-streaked. He had big, black eyes, with many wrinkles around
them, and a thin, firm, long-lipped mouth. We thought him
handsome, for an old man.

His gaze wandered over us with uncomplimentary indifference until
it fell on the Story Girl, leaning back in an arm-chair. She
looked like a slender red lily in the unstudied grace of her
attitude. A spark flashed into Mr. Campbell's black eyes.

"Is this a Sunday School deputation?" he inquired rather
ironically.

"No. We have come to ask a favour of you," said the Story Girl.