“Yes,” said Owlet as she seated herself on a very low stool beside Miss Fronde’s rather larger one. “I should think I had been sick. And I have been away from Lady so long—years and years and years. And I have had ’ventures. Not stories, mind you, like Jack the Giant Killer, and that, because that’s nonsense; but real, bloody-minded ’ventures. No wonder I look bad. Wonder my hair isn’t turned gray. I should have been dead and gone by this time if Mr. William hadn’t found me and fetched me back.” Lucy, with eyes and mouth both wide open, turned from the child to the lady, and inquired: “Wot de yittle fing mean, youn’ mist’ess?” “She was stolen from me while we were at Goblin Hall, and she has been very ill. But she was brought back to me, safe and well, last night. We will not talk any more about it at present, Lucy.” “All yight, youn’ mist’ess, ef yo’ say so, we won’t. But, oh, the williany ob some people on dis yeth! Ef eber I cotch my eye on dat lowlife trash, whoeber it was wot don’ it—umph-humphe!—dere’ll be a foot yace or a fun’al. Now min’!” “Well, Lucy, I only come to let Catherine see your little house, and now we must go. Good-by,” said Miss Fronde, rising. “Good-by, youn’ mist’ess. Me an’ Tom’ll be ready to go ’long ob yo’ any time now.” “I shall not go before next week; but in the meantime you may want to make purchases before you go. Take this on account, for you and him,” said Miss Fronde, and she put a twenty-dollar note in Lucy’s hand. “Oh! thanky, youn’ mist’ess! Thanky, ma’am! Lor’! dis is twice mo’ money’n ebber I had ’fo’ in all de days ob my pilg’imidge,” said Lucy, courtesying between every sentence. “I gwine to come to wait on yo’ at dinner time, mist’ess. I gwine to come wait on yo’ table ebbery time w’ile yo’ stay inter dat house. Mr. ’Pollyon Syphax say how I may. Mr. ’Pollyon Syphax moughty ’bligin’ colored gemman, Mr. ’Pollyon Syphax am,” said Tom, smiling in delight. “Well, I fink ’Pollyon Syphax mought be ’bligin’ on such ’casions. Yo’ doin’ his work fo’ him, an’ me a gibbin’ Sa’ Ann Syphax my own house, wot me an’ yo’ knock togedder wiv our own han’s out’n de ole camp lumber, an’ all de stools an’ de fings as we made ourse’ves! An’ all a f’ee gif’! I des yeckon how ’Pollyon Syphax mought be ’bligin’.” Roma left Lucy holding forth on the Syphax indebtedness, and with a smiling nod turned away from the cabin. She led Owlet back across the bramble lot and down the street to the northern starting point of the Fourteenth Street cars, found one empty, and got into it with her. They rode all the way down to the southern terminus, corner of F Street, where they got out. Roma, leading her protégée, walked across to the avenue, and down it to a well-known emporium of ready-made clothing. They entered this establishment, which was a perfect treasury of necessary, useful and beautiful articles of wearing apparel for women and children of all ages and conditions.