e to your own old Uncle!"

"He won't. He belongs to me; don't you, Bobby darlin'?"

A babyish voice babbled merrily, but the sounds were all "goos" and
"ahs" without any resemblance to words. Bobby may have imagined he was
talking, but he was not very intelligible.

"See here, Patsy Doyle; you gimme that baby." cried the man, pleadingly.
"I found him myself, and he's mine. I've dragged him here all the way
from his home upstairs, an' don't you dare lay a finger on him. Uncle
John!"

"Fair play, Patsy! Bobby's my chum, and--"

"Well, I'll let you have half of him, Nunkie. Down on your hands and
knees, sir, and be a horse. That's it--Now, Bobby, straddle Uncle John
and drive him by his necktie--here it is. S-t-e-a-d-y, Uncle; and
neigh--neigh like a horse!"

"How does a horse neigh, Patsy?" asked a muffled voice, choking and
chuckling at the same time.

"'Nee, hee-hee--hee; hee!'"

Uncle John tried to neigh, and made a sorry mess of it, although Bobby
shrieked with delight.

Then came a sudden hush. Diana caught the maid's voice, perhaps
announcing the presence of a visitor, for Patsy cried in subdued
accents:

"Goodness me, Mary! why didn't you say so? Listen, Uncle John--"

"Leggo that ear, Bobby--leggo!"

"--You watch the baby, Uncle John, and don't let anything happen to
him. I've got a caller."

Diana smiled, a bit scornfully, and then composed her features as a
young girl bustled into the room and came toward her with frank
cordiality indicated in the wide smile and out-stretched hand.

"Pardon my keeping you waiting," said Patsy, dropping into a chair
opposite her visitor, "Uncle John and I were romping with the baby from
upstarts--Bobby's such a dear! I didn't quite catch the name Mary gave
me and forgot to look at your card."

"I am Miss Von Taer."

"Not Diana Von Taer, the swell society girl?" cried Patsy eagerly.

Diana couldn't remember when she had been so completely nonplused
before. After an involuntary gasp she answered quietly:

"I am Diana Von Taer."

"Well, I'm glad to meet you, just the same," said Patsy, cheerfully. "We
outsiders are liable to look on society folk as we would on a cage of
monkeys--because we're so very ignorant, you know, and the bars are
really between us." This frank disdain verged on rudeness, although
the girl had no intention of being rude. Diana was annoyed in spite of
her desire to be tolerant.

"Perhaps the bars are imaginary," she rejoined, carele