"Got you all guessin', ain't I? Now I'll tell you all about it. Yesterday I was slammin' along the ro'd--it's been a long trip, twice as long as gettin' there, 'cause I didn't stop any place excep' I had to--slammin' along to beat the band, when I heard a kid hollerin', hollerin' like he was hurt. Come round the corner, and there--green grass! there was a big Dago guy with an organ, and he was layin' into this kid. Layin' into him, you understand, with a stick--little kid like this! Wouldn't that give--Well! I guess I went sort of dotty. I--well, you'll excuse me, ladies! I done what appeared the right dope--in that case, you understand. I give him his, in good shape! And then I dumped his organ atop of him, and took the kid and _e_-loped. That's all there is to it, really." He swept the table with a smile as confident as it was appealing. "Guess you'd all done the same, wouldn't you? The gents, I would say." There was a doubtful murmur, which might mean assent or dissent; the chaplain alone spoke out. "I don't know, Pippin! Of course you were right to stop the man's beating the child; but if he was his father--" "Father nothin'! He was one of them Pat Rooneys." "Pat Rooneys? What do you mean?" "That's what they call 'em!" with an assured nod. "Never knew why they give 'em an Irish name, for they're I-talian dagoes, every man Jack of 'em. _Buy_ kids, they do, or as good as buy 'em, and learn 'em--" A light broke on the chaplain. "Oh! _padrone_, you mean!" "That's what I say. Pat Roney or Rooney: Rooney's a more common name. There's Rooneys every place, I guess, but they're mostly Irish. Well! Now you see, Elder, this kiddo--lemme tell you! Say, kiddo! Where's Puppa?" "Papagondaiddo!" replied the child, burrowing his head into Pippin's shoulder. "Where's Mamma?" "Mammagondaiddo!" "Want to go back to Pat Rooney?" The boy screamed, and clung frantically round Pippin's neck, half choking him. "There! You see, Elder, and folks! And you see this!" he added gravely, pulling the ragged shirt from the little shoulders. The women cried out in pity and horror; the men grew red and muttered. Pippin pulled the shirt up again, gently as a woman. "I know the way that feels!" he said simply. "I've been there!" There was a moment's silence, while he stroked the curly head absently. Then Lucy Bailey, the tears running down her cheeks, held out her arms. "Come to me, little lamb!" she said. "Come and have a nice warm bath and some clean dry clothes! Then we'll go out and see the chickabiddies and the ducks! Come to Auntie!" The child resisted at first, but after a long look at her, put his hand in hers and trotted off obediently. Pippin drew a breath of relief, and turned eagerly to the chaplain.