“Well, I never did like to be a piker. If I’m going into a thing, I like to go in strong.” She made this statement pleasantly. [Illustration: A most extraordinary ancient man stood there watching her.] Mr. Baron put his glasses on somewhat hurriedly and looked hard at the child. He perceived that she was looking at him frankly and with a slight constriction at her throat, as was always the case when she felt she must hold her ground against attack. “I rather think you’re right,” he said reassuringly. “I’m not sure I know how to find the theatrical page. Would you mind looking?” But Flora interrupted here. She entered the room with the air of one who has blessings to bestow. “You’re invited to go to Sunday-school with us after a while,” she informed the guest. “You’re very kind, I’m sure. What’s it like?” “Oh, there are children, and music, and--” Flora paused. She wished to make her statement attractive as well as truthful. “A kind of spectacle?” suggested the guest. “Hardly that. But there’s somebody to tell stories. It’s very nice, I think.” “It certainly sounds good to me. If they’ve got any good people I might like to get into it, until I find an opening in my own line.” Mr. Baron removed his glasses again. “Flora, would you undertake to tell me what she means?” he inquired. Miss Baron pinched her lips and looked at him with a kind of ripple of joy in her eyes. “Isn’t it plain?” she asked. She went out of the room then, and he heard her laughing somewhere in the distance. He coughed again and turned to his paper, and so, for the first time in her life, Bonnie May was in a fair way of going to Sunday-school. Victor didn’t approve of the idea at all, when it was presently made known to him. He waylaid his mother in the dining-room at a time when there was no one else about. “Why not wait until she can get some things?” he asked. “Victor,” replied Mrs. Baron, holding her head very high, “you’re assuming that that extraordinary little creature is going to stay here. I assure you, she’s not. This may be the only chance she’ll ever have to place herself in the way of a helpful influence on Sunday. She’s going to Sunday-school to-day.” “Governess,” responded Victor, smiling steadily, “if you don’t quit getting angry with me I mean to sue for separate maintenance. Mark my words.” After which nothing more was said on the subject. Victor betook himself to the library, however, and indulged in a moment of fidgeting. Breakers were ahead--that was certain. It was forcing things, anyway. He took down his Emerson and turned to a passage which his mother long ago had pronounced a thing holding low heathen sentiments. He read: