tell _me_ what to do. I know her--she's old Adam Ward's daughter, she
is. An' she lives by grindin' the life out of us poor workin' folks,
that's what she does; 'cause my dad and Jake Vodell they say so. Yer
touch me an' yer'll see what'll happen to yer, when I tell Jake
Vodell."

Unseen by his mistress, the smile on the servant's face grew more
pronounced; and the small defender of the rights of the poor saw one of
the man's blue Irish eyes close slowly in a deliberate wink of good
fellowship. In a voice too low to be heard distinctly in the automobile
behind him, he said, "Yer all right, kid, but fer the love o' God beat
it before I have to lay hands on ye." Then, louder, he added gruffly,
"Get along wid ye or do ye want me to help ye?"

Bobby retreated in good order to a position of safety a little way down
the road where his sister was waiting for him.

With decorous gravity the imposing chauffeur went back to his place at
the door of the automobile.

"Gee!" exclaimed Bobby. "What do yer know about that! Old Adam Ward's
swell daughter a-goin' up to see the Interpreter. Gee!"

On the lower step of the zigzag stairway, with her hand on the railing,
the young woman paused suddenly and turned about. To the watching
children she must have looked very much indeed like the beautiful
princess of the Interpreter's fairy tale.

"Tom--" She hesitated and looked doubtfully toward the children.