a sudden stop to avoid hitting the
dog. At the sound of Jerry's voice the little animal made a joyous leap
into the car.

"He came on _ahead_--through the Divide! _Oh_--the darling," and Jerry
hugged her pet proudly.

John Westley looked at Penelope Allan and she looked at him and the
chauffeur looked at them both--all with the same question. In Jerry's
mind, however, there was no doubt.

"He'll _have_ to go with us, Mr. John, because I know he'd just die of a
broken heart if I--took him back!"

Then, startled by John Westley's hesitation, she added convincingly,
"He's awfully good and never bothers anyone and keeps as still as can be
when I tell him to and I'll--I'll----"

No one could have resisted the appeal in her voice.

"Very well, Jerry--Pepperpot shall go, too."

CHAPTER VI

NEW FACES

"Ten miles more... three miles more ... five blocks more," Mr. John had
been saying at intervals as the big car rolled along, carrying Jerry
nearer and nearer to her new home.

For the two days of the trip Jerry had scarcely spoken; indeed, more
than once her breath had caught in her throat. Each moment brought
something new, more wonderful than anything her fancy had ever pictured.
She liked best the cities through which they passed, their life, the
bustle and confusion, the hurrying throngs, the rushing automobiles, the
gleaming railroad tracks like taut bands of silver, the smoke-screened
factories with their belching stacks, the rows upon rows of houses,
snuggling in friendly fashion close to one another.

John Westley had found himself fascinated in watching the eager
alertness of her observation. He longed to know just what was passing
back of those bright eyes; he tried to draw out some expression, but
Jerry had turned to him an appealing look that said more plainly than
words that she simply couldn't tell how wonderful everything seemed to
her, so he had to content himself with watching the rapture reflected in
her face and manner.

But when, after leaving Mrs. Allan at her brother's, Mr. John had said
"five blocks more," Jerry had clutched the side of the car in an ecstasy
of anticipation. From the deep store of her vivid imagination she had
drawn a mental picture of what the Westley home and Isobel, Gyp, Graham
and Tibby would be like. The house, in her fancy, resembled pictures of
turreted castles; however, when she saw that it was really square and
brick, with a little iron grille enclosing the