"Insolent boy!" cried the other, giving each word an oratorical flourish, "are you not aware that this young lady, as you call her, is merely a child, and that she happens to be my daughter? I cannot see that you have a right to interfere in a family matter." "But I have no proof that Miss Pierson is your daughter," retorted David. "It is enough that she doesn't want to go with you. I undertook to see her safely to her own home, this evening, and I mean to do it. After that you may settle your difficulties as you please." "Miserable upstart!" cried the man, now so thoroughly angry that he let go Anne's hand, "I have a good mind to give you what you deserve. As for you, undutiful, wretched girl," he added, his voice rising to an emotional tremolo, "you shall be well punished for this!" "Don't wait," whispered Anne. "If we run, we can get away, now, while he is so angry." At that they all took to their heels, David following after them, much relieved to have given Anne's father the slip without further disagreeable argument. No one spoke until they had reached the Pierson cottage and had seen Anne safely to the front door. "I'm so sorry!" she exclaimed at last, trying not to cry. "I wouldn't for anything have had it happen, and just when you were all beginning to like me a little. Will you forgive me?" "Forgive you, Anne!" cried Grace. "It wasn't your fault. We are only awfully sorry for you." "We will just forget all about it, and never speak of it to anyone," promised Jessica, taking the girl's hand kindly. "But I want you to understand that I was right in not going," protested Anne. "Some day I will explain." "Of course you were right," said David, "and I hope you will never be persuaded to go." "Thank you, all, a thousand times!" came gratefully from Anne; "and good night." Then she disappeared into the cottage. "Well, this was a night's adventure," observed Grace, as they started homeward. "I am afraid Anne's father is a night's adventurer," muttered David. "He looks mightily like one of those strolling actors who go barnstorming through country towns." "Poor Anne! Do you suppose he wants her to barnstorm?" asked Nora. "I haven't a doubt of it," replied the young man. "I think you girls had better adopt that poor child and look after her." "We have already," answered Grace. "Didn't Miriam tell you about it?" "Miriam? No; she never tells me anything. Besides, what has she to do with it?" The girls were silent. "By the way," continued Grace, "speaking of barnstorming, we want to ask your advice, David. The sophomores played a mean trick on us the other day at the old Omnibus House." "I heard something about the Black Monks of Asia," answered David, laughing. "Can't your inventive brain devise a scheme of revenge?" went on Grace. "If we don't get even with them soon, the story will be all over town."