"When do I get that walk you promised me, Miss Lupton? What's the matter with right now?" The governess was surprised, since it was the first she had heard of any walk. Flattered she was, but still faithful to duty. "I'm looking for Moya. She knows she must always go to her room after tea and stay there. The naughty child ran away." "She's all right. I saw her snuggled under a rug with Mrs. Curtis not two minutes ago. Just a turn or two in this lovely night." Drawn by the magnet of his manhood, Moya slipped into the chair beside the eight-year-old. "I'd kick her darned shins if she spanked me," boasted he of the eight years. Moya admired his courage tremendously. Her dark eyes followed the retreating figure of her governess. "I'm 'fraid." "Hm! Bet I wouldn't be. Course, you're only a girl." His companion pleaded guilty with a sigh and slipped her hand into his beneath the steamer rug. "It's howwid to be a dirl," she confided. "Bet I wouldn't be one." "You talk so funny." "Don't either. I'm a Namerican. Tha's how we all talk." "I'm Irish. Mith Lupton says 'at's why I'm so naughty," the sinner confessed complacently. Confidences were exchanged. Moya explained that she was a norphan and had nobody but a man called Guardy, and he was not her very own. She lived in Sussex and had a Shetland pony. Mith Lupton was horrid and was always smacking her. When she said her prayers she always said in soft to herself, "But pleathe, God, don't bless Mith Lupton." They were taking a sea voyage for Moya's health, and she had been seasick just the teentiest weentiest bit. Jack on his part could proudly affirm that he had not missed a meal. He lived in Colorado on a ranch with his father, who had just taken him to England and Ireland to visit his folks. He didn't like England one little bit, and he had told his cousin Ned so and they had had a fight. As he was proceeding to tell details Miss Lupton returned from her stroll. She brought Moya to her feet with a jerk. "My goodness! Who will you pick up next? Now walk along to your room, missie." "Yes, Mith Lupton." "Haven't I told you not to talk to strangers?" "He isn't stwanger. He's Jack," announced Moya stanchly. "I'll teach you to run away as soon as my back is turned. You should have been in bed an hour ago." "I tan't unbutton myself." "A likely reason. Move along, now." Having been remiss in her duty, Miss Lupton was salving her conscience by being extra severe now. She hurried her charge away. Suddenly Moya stopped. "Pleathe, my han'erchif." "Have you lost it? Where is it?" "I had it in the chair." "Then run back and get it." Moya's thin white legs flashed along the deck. Like a small hurricane she descended upon the boy. Her arms went around his neck and for an instant he was smothered in her embrace, dark ringlets flying about his fair head. "Dood-night, Jack." A kiss fell helter-skelter on his cheek and she was gone, tugging a little handkerchief from her pocket as she ran.