ven't got all day to wait, either. Never mind your hats. I'll buy
you some new ones. Now don't set up a bawl. God knows it ain't any
treat to me to have you tagging along after me. Mind me! Come along."

Polly and Peter clung to one another and refused to move.

"I'm not going with you and neither is Peter," declared Polly. "You are
a bad, wicked woman who tells lies."

"Oh ho! So you are not coming with me. Well, we'll see about that. I
don't want to raise a row but I fancy you will come when I tell you
your mother has sent me to get you. Eh?"

"No, we won't come then because bur mother would never send you to get
us. If she was living she would come herself if she could and if she
couldn't she'd get somebody better'n you to come."

Polly's eyes were flashing and her nostrils swelling. She must protect
Peter at all cost to herself, even though the hated Dink would kill her
for telling her such unpleasant truths. She stood up in front of the
scornful, handsome, hard-eyed woman and defied her.

"Run, Peter! Go tell Dr. Weston!" she cried to her little brother.

Peter was up and away in a flash. Dink made a dive for him but Polly
grabbed her skirt and the moment's delay gave Peter a good start. Dink
turned, gave Polly a wicked slap on her cheek, jerked her skirt from
her grasp and flew down the walk after Peter. Peter's legs were short
and Dink's extremely long. Long legs were gaining on short legs.

"She's gonter git me! She's gonter git me!" Peter told himself, but in
spite of his despair he ran the faster.

The vicious slap on Polly's soft cheek had for a moment staggered the
little girl, but Polly was the stuff that heroines are made of. Down
the walk she ran after Dink. Whatever got Peter would have to get her
as well. Dink was gaining on Peter; Polly was gaining on Dink. In
imagination Peter felt long, strong, slim fingers grabbing him by the
collar of his little jacket. Dink had caught him in that manner in days
gone by and shaken him and slapped him--even pinched him with those
long, strong fingers. She would do it again. She would surely get him.
Good-bye to the sand pile and three meals a day! Good-bye to dear Mrs.
Dexter and her wonderful stories and frequent treats! Better to be
adopted than to have Dink get him.

Just as Peter gave up hope, knowing full well that the hated Dink was
close enough to put out her hand and catch him, he ran plump into the
arms of a khaki clad man who caught him to his br