Of all this Margaret thought, and it was therefore with not unpleasant anticipations that she stepped into the runabout a little later, and waved a good-bye to Mrs. Merideth, with a cheery: "I'm off for a little spin, Aunt Della. I'll be back before luncheon." Margaret was very sure that she knew the way, and some distance below the house she made the turn that would lead to what was known as the town road. The air was fresh and sweet, and the sun flickered through the trees in dancing little flecks of light that set the girl's pulses to throbbing in sympathy, and caused her to send the car bounding forward as if it, too, had red blood in its veins. Far down the hill the woods thinned rapidly, and a house or two appeared. Margaret went more slowly now. Somewhere was the home of little Maggie, and she did not want to miss it. Houses and more houses appeared, and the trees were left behind. There was now only the glaring sunlight showing up in all their barrenness the shabby little cottages with their dooryards strewn with tin cans and bits of paper, and swarming with half-clothed, crying babies. From somewhere came running a saucy-faced, barefooted urchin, then another and another, until the road seemed lined with them. "Hi, thar, look at de buz-wagon wid de gal in it!" shrieked a gleeful voice, and instantly the cry was taken up and echoed from across the street with shrill catcalls and derisive laughter. Margaret was frightened. She tooted her horn furiously, and tried to forge ahead; but the children, reading aright the terror in her eyes, swarmed about her until she was forced to bring the car almost to a stop lest she run over the small squirming bodies. With shrieks of delight the children instantly saw their advantage, and lost no time in making the most of it. They leaped upon the low step and clung to the sides and front of the car like leeches. Two larger boys climbed to the back and hung there with swinging feet, their jeering lips close to Miss Kendall's shrinking ears. A third boy, still more venturesome, had almost reached the vacant seat at Miss Kendall's side, when above the din of hoots and laughter, sounded an angry voice and a sharp command. CHAPTER XXI It had been young McGinnis's intention to look up the home and the parents of the little mill-girl, Nellie Magoon, at once, and see if something could not be done to keep--for a time, at least--that frail bit of humanity out of the mills. Some days had elapsed, however, since he had talked with the child, and not until now had he found the time to carry out his plan. He was hurrying with frowning brow along the lower end of Prospect Hill road when suddenly his ears were assailed by the unmistakable evidence that somewhere a mob of small boys had found an object upon which to vent their wildest mischief. The next moment a turn of the road revealed the almost motionless runabout with its living freight of shrieking urchins, and its one white-faced, terrified girl.