Sam Whaley's children sitting on the lower step of the zigzag stairway that afternoon had no thought for the Interpreter's Helen of the old house. Bobby's rapt attention was held by that imposing figure in uniform. Work in the Mill when he became a man! Not much! Not as long as there were automobiles like that to drive and clothes like those to wear while driving them! Little Maggie's pathetically serious eyes saw only the beautiful princess of the Interpreter's story--the princess who lived in a wonderful palace and who because her heart was so kind was told by the fairy how to find the jewel of happiness. Only this princess lady did not look as though she had found her jewel of happiness yet. But she would find it--the fairies would be sure to help her because her heart was kind. How could any princess lady--so beautiful, with such lovely clothes, and such a grand automobile, and such a wonderful servant--how could any princess lady like that help having a kind heart! "Tom, send those dirty, impossible children away!" The man touched his cap and turned to obey. Poor little Maggie could not believe. It was not what the lady said; it was the tone of her voice, the expression of her face, that hurt so. The princess lady must be very unhappy, indeed, to look and speak like that. And the tiny wisp of humanity, with her thin, stooping shoulders and her tired little face--dirty, half clothed and poorly fed--felt very sorry because the beautiful lady in the automobile was not happy. But Bobby's emotions were of quite a different sort. Sam Whaley would have been proud of his son had he seen the boy at that moment. Springing to his feet, the lad snarled with all the menacing hate he could muster, "Drive us away, will yer! I'd just like to see yer try it on. These here are the Interpreter's steps. If the Interpreter lets us come to see him, an' gives us cookies, an' tells us stories, I guess we've got a right to set on his steps if we want to." "Go on wid ye--git out o' here," said the man in livery. But Bobby's sharp eyes saw what the lady in the automobile could not see--a faint smile accompanied the chauffeur's attempt to obey his orders. "Go on yerself," retorted the urchin, defiantly, "I'll go when I git good an' ready. Ain't no darned rich folks what thinks they's so grand--with all their autermobiles, an' swell drivers, 'n' things--can tell _me_ what to do. I know her--she's old Adam Ward's daughter, she is. An' she lives by grindin' the life out of us poor workin' folks, that's what she does; 'cause my dad and Jake Vodell they say so. Yer touch me an' yer'll see what'll happen to yer, when I tell Jake Vodell."