own.

"Get out of my dress!" cried the old lady excitedly. "Here, I'll
call the police; if you don't let go of me this instant! Stop, I say!
Po-o-lice!"

Viny gave one violent jerk that brought her up to her feet, and with
eyes distended in terror, started in wild despair across the street.
A pair of handsome bays were coming in their best step down from the
Square, drawing a carriage full of people who seemed in the very best of
spirits.

"WHOA-A!" A click, a rapid pull-up with all Thomas's best strength, and
the horses fell back on their haunches just in time for the little lithe
figure to dart under their pawing hoofs and be saved! Everybody leaned
out of the carriage for a glimpse of the child.

"Why--why"--A young girl's face paled, while the gray eyes flashed, and
with one spring she was out and rushing after the small flying figure
who in her fright had turned to flee the other way.

"Look out, Caryl!" called the others in the carriage after her.

"Oh, she'll be killed," moaned a little girl leaning out as far as she
dared over the wheels.

"And then she can't ever get into the pretty new house," wailed another.
"Oh, what shall we do! Come back, Bessie!" she cried, tugging at her
sister's skirts. "Grandmamma, make her come into the carriage, I can't
hold her!"

But a crowd of people surging up around them at this moment, took off
all attention from Bessie and everybody else but the little fugitive
and her kind pursuer. Caryl made her way through the crowd with flushed
face, her little brown hat hanging by its strings around her neck,
pantingly dragging after her the little black girl.

"It's our Viny," she said, "and something is the matter with Aunt
Sylvia! Oh, Madam Grant!"

"My poor child," said a sweet-faced woman, reaching out a kind arm,
while the children seized hold of Caryl at every available point,
between them dragging her and her charge into shelter, "don't be
troubled. Drive just as fast as you can, Thomas, to No. 27, you know,"
she commanded hurriedly.

Then the first thing Caryl did was to turn upon Viny and unhook the
precious brooch as a low sob came from her white lips. "If it had been
lost!"

A soft hand stole under the little brown cloak to clasp her own; but
Madam Grant said never a word. She knew what the young girl's heart was
too full for speech; that the mother's brooch would speak more tenderly
than ever she could, of forgiveness to the little ignorant black girl.

The