e sun.
As Blythe glanced down and away from this stirring outlook, she could
just distinguish among the dark figures of the steerage the small
white face of the child upturned toward the sky; and again a sharp
pang took her, a feeling that the little creature did not belong
among those rough men and women. No wonder that the beautiful Italian
eyes always sought the sky; it was their only refuge from sordid
sights.

"I suppose the woman meant that the child was her little mistress; did
she not?" Blythe asked abruptly.

"That was what I understood."

"It's probably a romance; don't you think so?" and Blythe felt that
she was applying to a high authority for information on such a head.

"Looks like it," the great authority opined. "I think we shall have to
investigate the case."

"Oh, will you? And you speak Italian so beautifully!"

"How do you know that?"

"Oh, I'm sure of it! It sounds so exactly like the hand-organ men!"

"Look here, Miss Blythe," the poet protested, "you must not flatter a
modest man like that. My daughter would say you were turning my
head."

"Oh, I rather think your daughter knows that it's not the kind of head
to be turned," Blythe answered easily. She was beginning to feel as
if she had known this famous personage all her life.

"I shall tell her that," said he.

Presently one-bell sounded a faint tinkle far below, and the big
megaphone inquired whether they wanted to come down, and was assured
that they did not. And all the while during their voyage through the
air, which was prolonged for another half-hour, the two good comrades
were weaving romances about the little girl; and with a curious
confidence, as if, forsooth, they could conjure up what fortunes they
would out of that vast horizon toward which the good ship was bearing
them on.

At last the time came for them to go below, and they reluctantly
signalled to the sailors, grouped about the deck in patient
expectation. Upon which the windlass was set going, and slowly and
creakingly the "crow's nest" was lowered from its airy height.

The two aeronauts found the steerage still populous with queer
figures, and the atmosphere seemed more unsavoury than ever after
their sojourn among the upper airs. To their disappointment, however,
the woman and her Signorina were nowhere to be seen. Blythe and Mr.
Grey looked for them in every corner of the deck, but no trace of them
was to be found, and Blythe mounted the gangway to their