terrified Luigi and his friends; realizing
what vagrancy means in this "land of the free," and how even to earn an
honest living one should never dare to "trespass."

But even as Timothy forced his stalwart frame between the children and
the dogs, the great door opened and a white-haired gentleman came
hurrying out. Thrusting a silver whistle to his lips he blew upon it
shrilly, and almost instantly the uproar ceased, and the three hounds
sprang to his side, fawning upon him, eager for his commendation.
Instead of praise, however, they were given the word of command and
crouched beside him, licking their jaws and expectant, seemingly, of a
further order to pounce upon the intruders.

"Who loosed the dogs?" demanded the gentleman, in a clear-ringing,
indignant tone.

Now that he seemed displeased by their too solicitous obedience, none of
the gathering servants laid claim to it; and while all stood waiting,
arrested in their attitudes of fear or defense, a curious thing
happened. Glory Beck threw off the protecting arms of Timothy Dowd and,
with Bonny Angel clasped close in her own, swiftly advanced to the
granite step where the white-haired gentleman stood. Her face that had
paled in fear now flushed in excitement as with a voice unlike her own
she cried:

"You, sir! You, sir! What have you done with my grandfather?"

The gentleman stared at her, thinking her fright had turned her brain;
but saying kindly, as soon as he could command his voice:

"There, child. It's all right. The dogs won't touch you now."

"The dogs!" retorted the child, in infinite scorn. "What do I care for
the dogs? It's you I want. You, that 'Snug-Harbor'-Bonnicastle-man who
coaxed my grandpa Simon Beck away from his own home an' never let him
come back any more!"

Then her anger subsiding into an intensity of longing, she threw herself
at his feet, clasping his knees and imploring, piteously:

"Oh! take me to him. Tell me, tell me where he is. I've looked so long
and I don't know where and--please, please, please."

For a moment nobody spoke; not even Colonel Bonnicastle, for it was he,
indeed, though he silently motioned to a trustworthy man who had drawn
near to take the dogs away; and who, in obedience, whistling
imperatively, gathered their chains in his hands and led them back to
their kennel.

When the dogs had disappeared, the master of Broadacres sank into a
near-by chair, wiping his brow and pityingly regarded the little girl