Mary knelt on the driveway and gathered him into her round, young arms. "Listen to Mary, dear little boy. Did Charlie run away?" She had heard from Marjorie of Charlie's frequent attempts to sally forth to conquer the world with his violin. The child's sensitive face clouded. His lip quivered. "Connie says I have to always tell the truth," he wailed. "I runned away because I have to play in the big band. A man comed to see Uncle John this afternoon. I heard him talk about the band. Uncle John comed to play in it, so I comed, too. Only he didn't see me. I kept behind him till he got to the gate. Then after a while I comed, too!" Mignon La Salle stood watching the wailing aspirant for the "big band" with frowning eyes. "I suppose this ridiculous child belongs to those Stevens," she sneered. "Ain't a 'diclus child," contradicted Charlie with dignity. "I'm a mesishun. I can play the fiddle. I like Mary. I don't like you." "I have heard that this Stevens boy was an idiot. Now I believe it," snapped Mignon. "I suppose I'll have to take him in until some one comes after him. I didn't know his uncle was to be one of the musicians. If I had, I would have made the leader hire some other man. I sha'n't tell his uncle that he's here. He's hired to play for my dance, not to waste his time taking a simpleton home. It's a perfect nuisance." Her long hoop ear-rings swung and shook with the vehemence of her displeasure. Mary Raymond's face changed from red to white as she listened to the French girl's callous speech. A lover of all children, she could not endure the slight put upon this tiny boy. She straightened up with an alacrity that nearly threw Charlie off his balance. Her blue eyes flashed with righteous wrath. "How can you be so harsh with this cunning boy?" she cried. "He isn't an idiot or a simpleton! He's as bright as--as----" (courtesy conquered) "as any child of his age. Why, he's only a baby. He's not going into your house, either, to wait for his family to find him. He's going home now, and I'm going to take him." "You can't go very far in that short dress and those thin slippers," mocked Mignon. "Don't be a silly. Bring him in, I say, and hurry. I must go back to my guests." "Please go to them," Mary spoke in icily dignified tones. "As for me, I have my cloak." She held forth one bare arm on which swung her long, gray evening cape. "I should never forgive myself if I neglected this little tot. I'm sorry to be so rude, but I can't help it. I'm going now. Good night. Come, Charlie." Wrapping her cloak about her, Mary gently disengaged the violin case from Charlie's clutch, tucked it under one arm and took firm hold of the youngster's hand. Charlie was still regarding Mignon's swaying ear-rings with childish fascination. "You are a orful naughty girl," he pouted reproachfully. "If you leave me now to take that impudent child home, I'll never speak to you again," threatened Mignon, her black eyes snapping.