Prince whined in sympathy. Perhaps he felt, too, that life held much that was good and beautiful to his doggish soul. Carolyn May had no idea where they should go to hide from Uncle Joe. This venture was the result of a sudden and unpremeditated determination. Her only thought at first was to get out of sight of the Stagg premises. So she turned the nearest corner and went up the road towards the little closed, gable-roofed cottage where Aunty Rose had lived before she had come to be Uncle Joe’s housekeeper. Carolyn May had already peered over into the small yard of the cottage and had seen that Mrs. Kennedy still kept the flower-beds weeded and the walks neat and the grass plot trimmed. But the window shutters were barred and the front door built up with boards. Carolyn May went in through the front gate and sat down on the doorstep, while Prince dropped to a comfortable attitude beside her. The dog slept. The little girl ruminated. She would not go back to Uncle Joe’s—no, indeed! She did not know just what she would do when dark should come, but Prince should not be sacrificed to her uncle’s wrath. In the morning she would walk to the railroad station. She knew how to get there, and she knew what time the train left for the south. The conductor had been very kind to her all the way up from New York, and she was sure he would be glad to take her back again. She and Prince! They were both happier in that small Harlem apartment, even with papa and mamma away, than they ever could be at Sunrise Cove. And, of course, Prince could not be happy after he was “drownd-ed dead!” So it all seemed to the heart-hungry child sitting on the doorstep of the abandoned house. A voice, low, sweet, yet startling, aroused her. “What are you doing there, little girl?” Both runaways started, but neither of them was disturbed by the appearance of her who had accosted Carolyn May. “Oh, Miss Mandy!” breathed the little girl, and thought that the carpenter’s daughter had never looked so pretty. “What are you doing there?” repeated Miss Parlow. “We—we’ve run away,” said Carolyn May at last. She could be nothing but frank; it was her nature. “Run away!” repeated the pretty woman. “You don’t mean that?” “Yes, ma’am. I have. And Prince. From Uncle Joe and Aunty Rose,” Carolyn May assured her, nodding her head with each declaration. “Oh, my dear! What for?” asked Miss Amanda. So Carolyn May told her—and with tears. Meanwhile the woman came into the yard and sat beside the child on the step. With her arm about the little girl, Miss Amanda snuggled her up close, wiping the tears away with her own handkerchief. “I just _can’t_ have poor Prince drownd-ed,” Carolyn May sobbed. “I’d want to be drownd-ed myself, too.” “I know, dear. But do you really believe your Uncle Joseph would do such a thing? Would he drown your dog?” “I-I saw him putting the stones in the bag,” sobbed Carolyn May. “And he _said_ he would.”