“The Wren, that’s what they always called me,” was the response, in a thin little wisp of a voice.

“Have you no other name?” asked Miss Prescott kindly.

The child shook her head.

“I don’t know.  Perhaps I did once.  I wasn’t always with the tribe.  I remember a home and my mother, but that was all so long ago that it isn’t clear.”

“Then she’s not a gipsy,” declared Peggy emphatically.

“I’ll bet they kidnapped her some place,” exclaimed Roy.

“That doesn’t solve the problem of what to do with her,” struck in Jess.

“We can’t send her back to those people,” declared Bess, with some warmth.

“On the other hand, how are we to look after her?” said Jimsy.

“It’s a problem that will have to solve itself,” said Miss Prescott, after a few moments of deep thinking.

“How is that?” asked Peggy.

“Because she goes with us no matter what happens.  It may not be legal, but humanity comes above the law sometimes,” declared Miss Prescott, with emphasis.

“Hurrah for Aunt Sally!” cried the boys, “she’s as militant as a newly blossomed suffragette.  Cheer up, Wren, you’re all right now.”

“Then I’m to stay with you?” questioned the child.

“Of course,” came from Aunt Sally.

The child buried her head on the kind-hearted lady’s lap and burst into a passion of weeping that fairly shook her frail frame.

It was at this juncture that Jake set up a shout and pointed toward the woods.  From them a group of men had burst, armed with sticks and stones.  They came rushing straight at the little group, uttering ferocious shouts.

“We’re in for it now,” exclaimed Roy; “girls, you had better get in the machine and drive a safe distance.  Those fellows mean mischief.”

CHAPTER IV.

APPROACH OF THE STORM.

It was apparent enough that mean mischief they did.  Their dark eyes gleamed fiercely out of their swarthy faces.  One or two wore a vivid red or blue handkerchief knotted about sinewy necks, this means of adornment only adding to their generally sinister look.

“I knew we wouldn’t get far without running into trouble,” moaned Jake dejectedly.

Roy turned on him sharply, almost angrily.

“You get the ladies in that machine and drive off down the road a bit,” he said; “I’ll attend to this thing.  Jimsy, come here.”

Jake hesitated a moment and then strode off to the auto.

“Can’t we stay and help?” asked Bess.

“No; we can help Roy best by doing what he; wants us to.  He’s got some plan in his head,” rejoined Peggy firmly, “come along, Wren; Jess, help me with her, she’s terrified to death.”

This was no exaggeration.  At sight of the gipsy band, the child so recently taken from their clutches shrank and cowered against her young protectress.