nish his companion as
much as he felt it should have done. She did not even take her eyes from
his face.

"How many children are there?"

"Why--twenty." Livingston caught at a number, as a sinking man catches
at a twig.

As she accepted this, Livingstone was conscious of elation. He felt as
though he were playing a game and had escaped the ignominy of a wrong
answer: he had caught a bough and it held him.

"How old are they?"

Livingstone gasped. The little ogress! Was she just trifling with him?
Could it be possible that she saw through him? As he looked down at her
the eyes fastened on him were as calm as a dove's eyes.

"Why--ah--. How many brothers and sisters have you?" he asked.

He wished to create a diversion and gain time. She answered promptly.

"Seven: four sisters and three brothers. John, he's my oldest brother;
Tom, he's next--he's eight. Billy is the baby."

This contribution of family history was a relief, and Livingstone was
just trying to think of something else to say, when she demanded again,

"What are the ages of your children?"

"I have no children," said Livingstone, thinking how clever he was to be
so ready with an answer.

"I know.--But I mean the children you want the toys for?"

Livingstone felt for his handkerchief. The perspiration was beginning to
come on his brow.

"Why,--ah--the same ages as your brothers and sisters--about," he said
desperately, feeling that he was at the end of his resources and would
be discovered by the next question.

"We will go to Brown's," said the child quietly, and, dropping her eyes,
she settled herself back in the furs as though the problem were
definitely solved.

CHAPTER XII

Livingstone glanced at the little figure beside him, hoping she would
indicate where "Brown's" was, but she did not. Every one must know
"Brown's."

The only "Brown" Livingstone knew was the great banker, and a grim smile
flickered on his cheek at the thought of the toys in which that Brown
dealt. He shifted the responsibility to the driver.

"Driver, go to Brown's. You know where it is?"

"Well, no, sir, I don't believe I do. Which Brown do you mean, sir?"

"Why--ah--the toy-man's, of course."

The driver stopped his horses and reflected. He shook his head slowly.
Livingstone, however, was now equal to the emergency. Besides, there was
nothing else to do. He turned to his companion.

"Where is it?" he began boldly, but as he saw the look of surpri