o be a bit raw, I'll admit; but Marjorie has insisted that
it's a desperate case. So, after a short confab with Mrs. Flynn and the
kids, they're turned over to me.

"I ain't sure, ma'am," says I, "that young Mr. Ellins can spare the
time. He's pretty busy just now. But maybe I can break in long enough to
ask him, and if he's heard anything--well, you can be handy. Suppose you
wait here at the garden gate. No, leave it open, that way."

I had 'em grouped conspicuous and dramatic; and, with Mrs. Flynn's straw
lid tilted on one side, and the youngster whimperin' to be let loose
among the flowers, and the baby sound asleep with its mouth open, the
picture was more or less pathetic.

At the far end of the garden path was a different sort of scene. Ella
May was making Mr. Robert hold one end of a daisy chain she was weavin',
and she's prattlin' away kittenish when I edges up, scufflin' my feet
warnin' on the gravel. She greets me with a pout. Mr. Robert hangs his
head sort of sheepish, but asks hopeful:

"Well, Torchy?"

"She--she's here again, sir," says I.

"Eh?" says he, starin' puzzled. "Who is here?"

"S-s-s-sh!" says I, shakin' my head mysterious.

All of which don't escape Miss Buell. Her ears are up and her eyes wide
open. "What is it?" she asks.

"If I could have a few words in private with you, Mr. Robert," says I,
"maybe it would be----"

"Nonsense!" says he. "Out with it."

"Just as you like," says I. "Only, she's brought the kids with her this
time. She says how she wants her Robert back."

"Wha-a-at!" he gasps.

"Couldn't keep her out," says I. "You know how she is. There they are,
at the gate."

I don't know which was quicker to turn and look, him or Ella May. And
just then Mrs. Flynn happens to be gazin' our way, pleadin' and
expectant.

"Oh!" says Mr. Robert, laughin' careless. "Katie, eh?"

Miss Buell has jumped and is starin' at the group. Then, at that laugh
of Mr. Robert's, she whirls on him.

"Brute!" says she. "I'm glad she's found you."

With which she dashes towards the house and disappears, leavin' Mr.
Robert gawpin' after her.

"Why," says he, "you--you don't suppose she could have imagined
that--that----"

"Maybe she did," says I. "My fault, I expect. I could find her, though,
and explain how it was. I'll bet that inside of five minutes she'd be
back here finishin' the floral wreath. Shall I?"

"Back here?" he echoes, kind of vague. Then he comes to.

"No, no!" says he