"Until some one came along whom you loved better," interposed Miss Jenny Ann.

"That could never be, Miss Jenny Ann," declared Madge stoutly, her blue eyes wistful. "Why, if my father is alive and I find him, I shall never leave him for anybody else."

"What's that noise?" demanded Phyllis sharply.

It was after six o'clock and the Curtis home was brilliantly lighted. The window blinds were all closed. But there was a curious rapping and scratching at one of the windows that opened into a small side yard.

"It may be one of the servants," suggested Miss Jenny Ann, listening intently.

"It can't be," rejoined Madge. "No one of them would make such a strange noise."

"I think I had better call Tom," breathed Eleanor faintly. "It must be a burglar trying to steal Madeleine's wedding gifts."

Madge shook her head. "Wait, please," she whispered. She ran to the window. There was the faint scratching noise again! Madge lifted the shade quickly. Perched on the window sill was the oddest figure that ever stepped out of the pages of a fairy book. It was impossible to see just what it was, yet it looked like a little girl. One hand clung to the window facing, a small nose pressed against the pane.

"Why, it's a child!" exclaimed Miss Jenny Ann in tones of relief. "Open the window and let her come in."

Madge flung open the window. Light as a thistledown, the unexpected little visitor landed in the center of the room.

Madge and Eleanor had completely forgotten the elfin child they had met in the slums of New York City; but now she appeared among them just as mysteriously as though she were the fairy she pretended to be.

She wore a small red coat that was half a dozen sizes too tiny for her.

Her skirt was patched with odds and ends of bright flowered materials. On her head perched a cap, a scarlet flower, cut from an odd sc.r.a.p of old wall paper. In her hands Tania clasped a ridiculous bundle, done up in a dirty handkerchief.

"You strange little witch!" exclaimed Madge. "However did you find your way here? Be very still and good until the lovely lady who owns this house sees you, then I wouldn't be at all surprised if she gave you some cake and ice cream before she sends you away."

Tania sat down in the corner still as a mouse. Her thin knees were hunched close together. She held her poor bundle tightly. Her big black eyes grew larger and darker with wonder as she had her first glimpse of a fairyland, outside her own imagination, in the beautiful room and the group of lovely girls who occupied it.

Mrs. Curtis came in a minute later, followed by a man who had been one of the guests at the wedding. Madge, Eleanor, and Tania recognized him instantly. He was the young man who had protected Tania from the blows of the brutal woman the afternoon before, but Tania did not seem pleased to see him. Her face flushed hotly, her lips quivered, though she made no sound.

Mrs. Curtis smiled quizzically. Madge could see that there were tears behind her smiles. "Who is our latest guest, Madge?" she asked, gazing kindly at the odd little person.

Tania rose gravely from her place on the floor. "I am a fairy who has been under the spell of a wicked witch," she a.s.serted with solemnity, "but now the spell is broken and I've run away from her. I shan't go back ever any more."

Mrs. Curtis's young man guest took the child firmly by the shoulders.

"What do you mean by coming here to trouble these young ladies?" he demanded sternly. "I thought I recognized your friends, Mrs. Curtis. They saved this child yesterday from a punishment she probably well deserved.

She is one of the children in our slum neighborhood that we have not been able to reach. I will take her back to her home with me at once."

The child's head was high in the air. She caught her breath. Her eyes had a queer, eerie look in them. "You can't take me back now," she insisted.

"The spell is broken. I shall never see old Sal again."

Madge put her arm about the small witch girl. "Let her stay here just to-night, Mrs. Curtis, please," begged Madge earnestly. "I wish to find out something about her. I will look after her and see that she does not do any harm."

Quite seriously and gently Tania knelt on one knee and kissed Mrs.

Curtis's hand. "Let me stay. I shall be on my way again in the morning,"

she pleaded, "but I am a little afraid of the night."

"My dear child," said Mrs. Curtis, gently drawing the waif to her side, "you are far too little to be running away from home. You may stay here to-night, then to-morrow we will see what we can do for you. I won't trouble you with her to-night, Philip," she added, turning to her guest.

"It will be no trouble," returned Philip Holt blandly. "She lives less than an hour's ride from here. Her foster mother will be greatly worried at her absence."

Mrs. Curtis looked hesitatingly at Tania, who had been listening with alert ears. The child's black eyes took on a look of lively terror.

"Please, please let me stay," she begged, clasping her thin little hands in anxious appeal.

"Won't you let Tania stay here to-night, Mrs. Curtis?" asked Madge for the second time. "I am sorry to disagree with Mr. Holt, but I do not believe that poor little Tania is either lawless or incorrigible. The woman who claims her is the most cruel, brutal-looking person I ever saw.

I am sure she is not Tania's mother. Let me keep her here to-night, and to-morrow I will inquire into her case."

"Very well, Madge," said Mrs. Curtis reluctantly. She glanced toward Philip Holt. His eyes, however, were fixed upon Madge with an expression of disapproval and dislike. For the first time it occurred to Mrs. Curtis that Philip Holt might be very disagreeable if thwarted. She immediately dismissed the thought as unworthy when the young man said smoothly: "I shall be only too glad to have Miss Morton investigate the child's record. I am sorry that my word has not been sufficient to convince her."

Madge made no reply to this thrust. Then an awkward silence ensued. Mrs.

Curtis looked annoyed, Tania triumphant, Madge belligerent, and the other girls sympathetic. Making a strong effort, Philip Holt controlled his anger and, extending his hand to Mrs. Curtis, said: "Pray, pardon my interference. I was prompted to speak merely in your interest. I trust I shall see you again in the near future. Good night." He bowed coldly to the young women and took his departure.

"What a disagreeable----" Madge stopped abruptly. Her face flushed. "I beg your pardon, Mrs. Curtis," she said contritely. "I shouldn't have spoken my mind aloud."

"I forgive you, my dear," there was a slight tone of constraint in Mrs.

Curtis's voice, "but I am sure if you knew Mr. Holt as I do you would have an entirely different opinion of him."

"Perhaps I should," returned Madge politely, but in her heart she knew that she and Philip Holt were destined not to be friends, but bitter enemies.

CHAPTER V

TANIA, A PROBLEM

"Don't you think it would be a splendid plan for Tania?" asked Madge eagerly. "Miss Jenny Ann and the girls are willing she should come to us.

Tania is such a fascinating little person, with her dreams and her pretences, that she is the best kind of company. Besides, I am awfully sorry for her."

Mrs. Curtis and Madge were seated in the latter's bedroom indulging in one of their old-time confidential talks.

"Tania would be a great deal of care for you, Madge," argued Mrs. Curtis.

"She is worrying my maids almost distracted with her foolishness. Last night she wrapped herself in a sheet and frightened poor Norah almost to death by dancing in the moonlight. She explained to Norah that she was pretending that she was a moonflower swaying in the wind. I wonder where the child got such odd fancies and bits of information? She has never seen a moonflower in her life." Mrs. Curtis laughed and frowned at the same time. "Poor little daughter of the tenements! She is indeed a problem."

"Shall I tell you all I have been able to find out about Tania?" asked Madge. "Her history is quite like a story-book tale. I think her father and mother were actors, but the father died when Tania was only a little baby. That is why, I suppose, they called the child by such an absurd name as 't.i.tania.' I looked it up and it comes from Shakespeare's play of 'Midsummer Night's Dream.' I think perhaps her mother was just a dancer, or had only a small part in the plays in which she appeared, for they never had any money. Tania has lived in a tenement always. The mother used to take care of her baby when she could, and then leave her to the neighbors. But the mother must have been unusual, too, for she taught Tania all sorts of poetry and music when Tania was only a tiny child.

Indeed, Tania knows a great deal more about literature than I do now,"

confessed Madge honestly. "It isn't so strange, after all, that Tania pretends. Why, she and her mother used to play at pretending together.

When they sat down to their dinner they used to rub their old lamp and play that it was Aladdin's wonderful lamp, and that their poor table was spread with a wonderful feast, instead of just bread and cheese. They tried to make light of their poverty."

Mrs. Curtis's eyes were full of tears. She could understand better than Madge the scene the young girl pictured.

"Tania was eight years old when her mother died," finished Madge pensively. "Since then poor Tania has had such a dreadful time, living with that wretched old Sal, who has made a regular slavey of her, and she just had to go on with her pretending in order to be able to bear her life at all."

Madge and Mrs. Curtis were both silent for a moment. The bright June sunshine flooded the room, offering a sharp contrast to Tania's sad little story.

"You see why I wish to take her on the houseboat," pleaded Madge. "It seems so wonderful that we are going to Cape May and will be on the really seash.o.r.e, near you and Tom, that each one of us feels the desire to do something for somebody just to show how happy we are. Miss Jenny Ann says we may take Tania, if you think it wouldn't be unwise."