“When my uncle was gone, my baby was lost to me entirely. I had no way of finding her as these Russian artists who wanted her for her talent had put her in another conservatory. She showed talent so early in her baby life when her dear father would play his beloved violin,” she paused at this memory, then proceeded. “I searched the whole country and at last found she had come to America.” She stopped while Stanislaus was exchanging significant looks, but he did not venture to interrupt the narrative. Jane was having all she could do to keep the girls in check, for Judith tugged at her sleeve. Weasie had pulled off her coat, while Gloria was making such eyes, across the room, poor Jane felt almost helpless, under the silent demands of her constituents. She wigwagged, and blinked, but had no reason to believe they would restrain themselves if this recital did not soon come home to Jane. “When I found she came to America I followed,” went on Madam. “But not one word was I able to get of the child until to-day, this wonderful young girl came to me to ask me to sing at this concert—” indicating the surrounding as Wellington. “How, can you say, she was not sent to me directly, when all these years I have sought in vain, and every clue I would come to I soon would lose in some mysterious way—perhaps always arranged by those enemies?” “May I speak, Madam—Matka?” Helen corrected herself. “You do not know how I reached America. It was through this young man, who like me was left at that awful conservatory. He got the passports and I came to America with him and his good old aunt.” Everyone now turned to the embarrassed Stanislaus. “But that was very little, Madam,” he said with his gallant sweeping bow. “I only got the passports and we came here to study more safely. I had hoped to reach my good old friend, Madam Strutsky, but she had gone, my aunt had found the school for young ladies, and there Helka went. From there I also lost her.” “Helen! Helen!” exclaimed Jane. “How could we guess we had such a lost and found girl among us?” “Ah, but my friend,” and Helen stepped forward, still keeping up the stage effect, “I have been through much trouble, and have found many friends, but it was Jane Allen who saved me when all the others were so far away. Even my good, kind Stanislaus had left me for the time, when she came, and everyone here knows how she has quietly worked to keep me from despair in the dark hours.” “Please! please!” interrupted Judith. “If I do not speak, Mrs. Weatherbee, something dreadful will happen. You see, I was with Jane from the beginning of this episode, and I feel I should be permitted to say something for the girls. You would not close a scene like this without a chorus?” “Judy!” begged Jane, thinking of that dreadful glee stuff about the girl, and her name was Jane, “Please don’t start any cheering.”