“Look here, boy,” Mrs. Haven asked, finally, weakening in spite of herself at the sight. “I suppose you’re in trouble of some kind, that you want to run away. But if you’ll give me your word it’s nothing—nothing dishonest or—_bad_ you’ve done——” She paused uncertainly, and Erica took heart. “I give you my word,” she said, solemnly, “I haven’t done anything wrong—not in the way you mean it,” she added, hurriedly, for her conscience was already beginning to prick her a little as to how Aunt Charity and her father would view her action when they came to learn of it. “Where’s your mother?” Mrs. Haven demanded next. But this time her hand patted Erica’s hair relentingly. “She died when I was born,” Erica said. “Wait—maybe I’d better tell you why I have to go.” And as they jolted noisily along, she poured out the tale of Lister’s mysterious disappearance and of her Chinese godfather who was their only hope now of getting news of the boy. She kept back prudently the fact that Tommy was already sailing on the self-same errand; that her father was captain of a clipper ship plying back and forth to China, who might be supposed entirely capable of handling any search necessary; and, last and most vital of all, she gave no hint that should correct Mrs. Haven’s belief in the genuineness of her masquerading. “You look awfully young to go to sea,” the other said, doubtfully, at the end of the tale, but her black eyes had quickened into eager interest as the various _Arabian Nights_ aspects of the situation were skillfully set forth by Erica’s nimble tongue. A lost cousin, a mysterious Chinese godfather, the seal ring with the strange Chinese characters Lis had worn away—it sounded to kindly, foolish Mrs. Haven like something from one of the romantic and always highly improbable novels she reveled in. “I’m fifteen,” Erica informed her truthfully. “And I’m quite strong. I always have been.” “Well, you don’t look much more than eleven or twelve,” Mrs. Haven demurred. “But I’ll do my best to get you on board. I’ll say you’re a young friend I’m responsible for taking out to his relatives in Canton. That’ll be literally true. I couldn’t tell a lie, of course. Here we are now, at the wharf. You let me do the talking, and we’ll come through right enough.” The carriage drew to a stop and Jeffreys, descending from his box, opened the door. The sight of a pretty red-headed boy sitting on the boxes inside, where apparently no boy had been at the start of the short ride, caused the rather prominent eyes of Jeffreys to appear to be trying suddenly to leap from their sockets. He looked from Erica to his mistress, blinked, attempted to speak, and choked instead. “Oh, Jeffreys, I believe I did not tell you this young gentleman was coming with us,” Mrs. Haven had the presence of mind to say quickly. Jeffreys blinked again. “No—eh—no, ma’am,” he agreed, meekly.