Baron paused, frowning. “I meant,” he explained patiently, “that they are people who want to be as good as they can, and who want to give one another encouragement.” The child was conscious of his wish to be conciliatory. She tried to restrain herself. “Well,” she asked, “if they want to be good, why don’t they just _be_ good? What’s the use of worrying about it?” “I’m afraid it isn’t quite so simple a matter as all that.” Bonnie May’s wrath arose in spite of herself. She was recalling certain indignities. “I don’t see anything in it but a bum performance. Do you know what I think they go there for?” “That’s what I’m trying to find out.” “I think they go there to watch each other--to find out something bad about each other.” “Bonnie May!” “I do! And I’ve had pretty near enough, too. You asked me and I told you. You’re all asking me to do things, and asking me questions; and then if I don’t agree with you in every way I’m wrong. That may look all right to you, but it doesn’t to me. If I’ve got to take everything, I mean to be on my way.” Baron remained silent a full minute. When he spoke again his voice was persuasive, gentle. “I’m anxious to understand your difficulties,” he said. “I’m anxious to have you understand ours. I’m sorry I criticised you. I’m sure you mean to be fair.” She looked at him with a light of gratitude in her eyes, a quiver of emotion passing over her face. She had an intense desire to justify herself--at least to him. “Do you know what was the first thing they asked me?” “Your name, probably.” “No, Mrs. Shepard told them that. _They asked me if I was a good little girl!_” “But I don’t see any harm in that. Why shouldn’t they have asked you?” “You don’t! Do you suppose that I was going to tell them that I was--or that I wasn’t? What nonsense! Are you ‘a good young man’? How does a question like that sound?” Baron pondered. “Well--” he suggested. “Well, I wouldn’t stand it. I asked her if she was ‘a good old woman’--and the frowzy old thing stared at me just as ugly! She walked way down into the parquet without looking back. She’d been grinning when she asked me. I’ll bet she won’t grin like that very soon again.” Baron walked to the window and looked out dully, to gain time. How extraordinary the child’s attitude was! And yet.... He could understand that she might have been the only child in the troupe with which she travelled, and that her older companions, weary of mimicry and make-believe when their work was done, might have employed very frank, mature speech toward each other and their young companion. He turned away from the window with a sigh. “Won’t you take my word for it, Bonnie May, that these people mean well, and that one should speak of them with respect, even if one cannot speak of them with affection?” “But they don’t mean well. What’s the good of stalling?” She turned until her back was toward him, and sat so, her cheek in her hand, and her whole body eloquent of discouragement.