Sally’s heart leaped with hope. “She—my mother—lived here in Stanton, Mr. Bybee. I have her address, the one she gave the orphanage twelve years ago when she put me there. But Miss Pond, who works in the office at the Home, said they had investigated and found she had moved away right after she put me in the orphanage. But I thought—I hoped—I could find out something while I’m here. But I suppose it would be too dangerous—I might get caught—and they’d send me to the reformatory—” “Haven’t I told you I’m not going to let ’em bother you?” Bybee chided her, beetling his brows in a terrific frown. “Now, my idea is this—” “_My_ idea, Winfield Bybee!” his wife interrupted tartly. “Always taking credit! That’s you all over! _My_ idea, Sally, is for _me_ to scout around the neighborhood where your mother used to live and see if I can pick up any information for you. Land knows a girl alone like you needs some folks of her own to look after her. Wouldn’t do for you to go around asking questions, but I’ll make out like I’m trying to find out where my long-lost sister, Mrs. Ford, is. What was her first name? Got that, too?” “Her name was Nora,” Sally said softly. “Mrs. Nora Ford, aged twenty-eight then—twelve years ago. Oh, Mrs. Bybee, you’re both so good to me! Why are you so good to me?” she added ingenuously. “Maybe,” Mrs. Bybee answered brusquely, “it’s because you’re a sweet kid, without any dirty nonsense about you. That is,” she added severely, her sharp grey eyes flicking from Sally’s eager face to Bybee’s, “you’d better not let me catch you making eyes at this old Tom Cat of mine!” “Now, Ma,” Bybee flushed and squirmed, “don’t tease the poor kid. Can’t you see she’s clear gone on this Dave chap of her’s? She wouldn’t even know I was a man if I didn’t wear pants. Don’t mind her, Sally. She’s your friend, too, and she’ll try to get on your ma’s tracks tomorrow morning before show time.” CHAPTER VI Hours more of “crystal-gazing,” of giving lavish promises of “long journeys,” success, wealth, sweethearts, husbands, wives, bumper corn and wheat crops, babies—until eleven o’clock and the merciful dwindling of the carnival crowds permitted a weary little “Princess Lalla” to slip out of the “Palace of Wonders” tent, Pitty Sing, the midget woman, cradled in her arms like a baby. For Pitty Sing had promptly adopted Sally as her human sedan chair, uncompromisingly dismissing black-eyed Nita, the “Hula-Hula” dancer, who had previously performed that service for her. “I don’t like Nita a bit,” the tiny treble voice informed Sally with great definiteness. “I do like you, and I shall compensate you generously for your services. Nita has no proper respect for me, though I command—and I say it without boasting, I hope—twice the salary that that indecent muscle-dancer does. And she always joggled me.”