gaily, yet with a certain authority that had an instant effect on the
youngsters. Almost before he knew what had happened, she was
approaching him with the flushed, mischievous "kiddies" in tow. They
were staring at the strange, beautiful young lady with wide-open,
fascinated eyes. They were abashed, puzzled; meek with wonder. When
she extended her hands to Kathleen and Marie Louise, they came to her
shyly and then, without so much as a glance at the three boys, she
calmly led them back to the marvelling little millionaire. It was a
crafty way of bringing the boys, to time. Their curiosity, cupidity,
envy--what you will--brought them scurrying up to the group, and not a
face was missing from the ranks when she stopped before Mr. Bingle and
said:

"And now that we have them, bound hand and foot, what are we to do
with them? Put them in a dungeon and feed them on bread and water?"

"I don't see how you did it," said Mr. Bingle. "It was really quite
wonderful. Perhaps it was because you are so very pretty. I think, if
you don't object, I'll put 'em in the 'bus, take 'em home and feed
them on milk and honey and jam. Thank you, thank you ever so much."

"I love children and I believe that children like me," said she, her
fingers gently caressing Kathleen's brown, tumbled locks. "That
explains it, I am sure. Now, boys, run on ahead and tell the chauffeur
your father is coming. And, listen to me: your father is tired and
very, very warm. You must not cause him any more distress. I am sure
you won't, will you?"

Then she wiped the tears from the cheeks of the "littlest ones,"
straightened their bonnets, and, in the end, proposed that she should