me. However, you and I will follow in mine.
I am Auntie."

"His aunt?" the girl asked eagerly, as the woman forced a way for them
through the mass of humanity.

"Yes, dear. And I am so glad to see you. I have heard all about you."

"Did he write to you--from Simiti?"

"Yes, long letters. And he told all about his little girl. He said
your name was--"

"Carmen," interrupted the girl, with a great surge of gladness, for
here was one woman who did not avoid her.

"Yes, Carmen. It is a sweet name."

"But--Mr. Harris!" cried Carmen, suddenly stopping as she remembered.

"Oh, did he wait? Well, he will come. He knows where to find the
automobiles. I will leave word with the pier-master to tell him."

By this time they had wormed their way clear of the crowd and gained
the street. The woman, still retaining Carmen's hand, went directly to
a waiting automobile and pushed the unresisting girl through the open
door. Carmen had never seen a conveyance like this, and her thought
was instantly absorbed. She looked wonderingly for the horses. And
then, sinking into the luxurious cushions, she fell to speculating as
to how the thing was moved.

As the chauffeur reached back to close the door a policeman, who had
been eying the party since they came out of the shed, stepped up and
laid a hand on the car.

"Er--little girl," he said, looking in and addressing Carmen,
"_you--you know this lady, do you_?"

"Yes," replied Carmen, looking up confidently into the woman's smiling
face. "She is Auntie, Mr. Reed's aunt." She thought his blue uniform
and shining buttons and star gorgeously beautiful.

The officer stood hesitant a moment. Suspicion lurked in his eyes as
he looked at the woman and then back again at the girl.

"She is a little girl who came up from the South with my nephew, Mr.
Reed," the woman explained easily. "But I don't wonder you asked. I
will give you my card, if you wish."

Her air was supremely confident. The chauffeur, too, as he got out and
leisurely examined his engine, served further to disarm suspicion. The
officer raised up and removed his hand from the machine. The chauffeur
slowly mounted the box and threw on his lever. As the car moved gently
into the night the officer glanced at its number. "Hell!" he muttered,
turning away. "What's the use? The number would be changed anyway.
What's a fellow going to do in a case like this, I'd like to know--go
with 'em?"

Some minutes later, Harris, wild a