Before such dislike, who could suspect? Where dwelt such frankness? Who could doubt? Yet, Serena, conjecturing that a more complete understanding of the case might insure some interesting developments, excused him with words of warning, "You ain' nevah kep' nothin' f'on me, no time." After Obadiah had heard his daughter's story of the accident, his mind reverted to the minstrel parade. "You seem to have had a very strenuous morning, Virginia," he remarked. "When we met, you had quite a load of passengers with you. Tell me about them." He wanted to know how those orphans got into the car. Virginia was in the midst of her description of the morning's events when her father interrupted, "Why should you take those negro children for a ride? What made you do it?" "Can't you understand, Daddy? Those poor little darkies were frightened almost out of their wits by our car. They cried, and they looked so forlorn. The walk is their big pleasure each week. We spoiled it in a way, today, and I tried to make up for it." She was lost in thought for a moment and then went on. "Think of it! Those children are shut up within the walls of that institution every minute of the time except for that weekly walk." "What's the matter with that? Where else would you keep them? They can't run loose upon the streets." Obadiah wished to bring his daughter to a reasonable and sensible view of the situation. "Of course, Daddy, the orphans can't be allowed to run wild. That would never do. But that makes it no less hard for them to be shut up in that yard year after year with only a walk now and then for a change." She looked appealingly at him. "How would you like to be shut up in a yard all of the time, Daddy?" Obadiah almost shuddered. The thought of being confined in an inclosure was repulsive to him. It savored of the penalties prescribed in certain anti-trust laws of which he had an uncomfortable knowledge. He would have gladly eliminated the question of restraint, but not being able to, asked, "How can you help it?" Virginia gleefully clinched her argument. "Take the orphans out oftener and take them riding so that they can go farther than their little legs can carry them. I did the last thing, Daddy, don't you see?" Obadiah saw, and, admitting the strength of his daughter's argument to himself, recognized that it had logical strength as a plea for a series of rides. He dropped the matter promptly and in this was assisted by the gong calling them to a belated luncheon. Virginia, because of the excitement of the morning, had little appetite. She watched her father for a time and then her eyes took on a deeper blue as, without averting her gaze, she drifted away into one of those mysterious musings of girlhood. He gulped his food hastily as if he had a train to catch. "I should be back," he fretted. "My time is worth money. You must learn to be considerate of others, Virginia."