isten to me, so she
gave him the money and I took charge of it for him."

He beamed virtuously at Miss Juliana, who now rewarded him with a
hurried glance of approval. It seemed to Miss Juliana and to him that he
had been on the side of law and order, condemning and seeking to
dissuade the offenders from their vicious proceedings. He felt that he
was a very good little boy, indeed, and that the tall lady was
understanding it. He had been an innocent bystander.

Miss Juliana again eyed the skirted Wilbur, and the viewless wind of a
smile's beginning blew across the lower half of her accusing face. Then
she favoured the mere street urchin with a glance of extreme repugnance.

"I shall have to ask all of you to come with me," she said, terribly.

"Where to?" demanded the chief culprit.

"You know well enough."

This was all too true.

"Me?" demanded the upright Merle, as if there must have been some
mistake. Surely no right-thinking person could implicate him in this
rowdy affair!

"You, if you please," said Miss Juliana, but she smiled beautifully upon
him. He felt himself definitely aligned with the forces of justice. He
all at once wanted to go. He would go as an assistant prosecuting
attorney.

"Not--not me?" stammered the stricken Wilbur.

"By all means--you!" Miss Juliana sharpened her tone She added,
mysteriously: "It would be good without you--good, but not perfect."

"Now I guess you'll learn how to behave yourself in future!" admonished
Merle, the preacher, and edged toward Miss Juliana as one withdrawing
from contamination.

"Oh, not me!" pleaded the voice of Wilbur.

"I think you heard me," said Miss Juliana. "Come!"

She uttered "come" so that not mountains would have dared stay, much
less a frightened little boy in a girl's dress. In his proper garb there
had been instant and contemptuous flight. But the dress debased all his
manly instincts. He came crawling, as the worm. The recent Ben Blunt
pulled a cap over a shorn head and advanced stoically before the group.

"One moment," said Miss Juliana. "We seem to be forgetting something."
She indicated the hat of Patricia Whipple lying on the ground near where
smouldered the two ends of the abandoned pennygrab. "I think you might
resume this, my dear, and restore the cap to its rightful owner." It was
but a further play of her debased fancy. The mere street urchin was now
decked in a girl's hat and a presumable girl wore an incongruous cap. "I