"We're robbers," said Bobby, stanchly. "I'm Huck Finn, the Red-handed, and Jerome's Tom Sawyer, the Terror of the Plains. When we saw that baby left alone in the carriage, we thought we ought to teach Annie a lesson. We meant to turn into detectives pretty soon and raid this robber den and take the baby back. We were just getting ready to be detectives when you came." "This is one time the local police got in first," observed Peter. "What's that Bible for?" "To take our oaths on." "Huh! I guess yer mother will be havin' somethin' to say to that." He lowered the ladder and faced the robbers. There were three by this time: Jerome had emerged of his own accord. "I'll take the baby meself. Master Bobby, ye follow with the Bible; Master Jerome, ye rip the skull an' bones off them lap-robes, fold 'em up neat, an' put 'em in the closet where they b'long. I'll give ye just half an hour to break up this gang an' return the loot. Master Augustus!" Peter bellowed down the trap, "fetch four pairs o' handcuffs an' have these robbers at the p'lice station in half an hour to hear their sentence." He shouldered the baby with awkward care, and retraced his steps toward the house. Annie was still drooping on her bench. Peter approached softly from behind. "Here he is like I promised." "Oh, Pete! Is he hurt?" She snatched the child from his arms and commenced anxiously examining his limbs for injuries. The baby grabbed her hair and cooed. She covered him with kisses. "Where'd you find him?" "I found him--where I found him," said Peter, cannily, "an' don't ye be leavin' him alone again." "I won't! I can't never thank you enough." "Yes, ye can--by not flirtin' with that Dago any more." "I wasn't flirtin' with him; he don't care nothin' about me. All he wants is to learn to talk." Peter looked sceptical. "Honest, Pete! It's the livin' truth. I never flirted with no one, except--maybe you." Peter's face softened momentarily, but it hardened again as a shadow fell between them. Vittorio was standing on the other side of the hedge. "You find-a dat baby?" he inquired with an all-inclusive smile. As the fact was self-evident, nobody answered. Vittorio was a romantic soul; he caught the breath of sentiment in the air. "Annie you girl?" he inquired genially of Peter. Peter scowled without speaking. "I got-a girl too, name Marietta. Live-a Napoli. Some day I send-a money, she come Americ'; marry wif me. Nice girl, Marietta. Annie nice girl, too," he added, as a polite afterthought. "You marry wif her?" Peter's face cleared. "Some day, Vittorio, if she'll be havin' me." He stole a side glance at Annie. She rose with a quick flush. "Quit your foolin', Pete! 'Tis time this baby was getting his supper. Would you mind settin' his carriage on the porch? Good night, Vittorio." She tucked the baby under her arm and started, singing, for the house.