“Miss Frances!  Miss Frances!”

Two arms were flung around Miss Barbour’s waist, and for a moment the curly brown head was buried on her breast and words refused to come; instead came breathing short and quick; then Carmencita looked up.

“What—­oh, what is his name, Miss Frances?  He was found and now is lost, and I promised—­I promised I’d get you for him!”

Frances Barbour lifted the excited little face and kissed it.  “What’s the matter, Carmencita?  You look as if you’d seen a ghost, and you’re talking as if—­”

“I’m crazy—­I’m not.  And there isn’t any time to lose.  He said he must find you before Christmas.  There isn’t a soul to make Christmas for him, and he hasn’t anybody to buy things for, and he’s as lonely as a—­a desert person, and he doesn’t want any one but you.  Oh, Miss Frances, what is his name?”

Frances Barbour leaned back in the chair in which she had taken her seat, and her face whitened.  “What are you talking about, and who is—­”

“I’m talking about—­Him.”  On her knees Carmencita crouched against her friend’s chair, and her long, slender fingers intertwined with those which had suddenly grown nerveless.  “I’m talking about your sweetheart, Miss Frances.  I found him for you, and then I lost him.  I’ll tell you how it happened after I know all of his name and—­If you had seen his face when I told him I knew you and knew where you lived you’d hurry, you’d—­”

“If he wishes to see me, why doesn’t he—­I mean—­” Sudden color surged into the face turned from the child’s eager eyes.  “What are we talking about, Carmencita?  There is evidently some mistake.”

“There is.  An awful one.  It’s three years old.  And we’re talking about the gentleman Father and I met yesterday and lost last night.  You’re his sweetheart, and he wants you for Christmas and for ever after, and he may be dead by to-morrow if he doesn’t find you.  He came to our house, and I wrote you a note to come, too, and when you didn’t do it he looked as if he’d been hit in the face and couldn’t breathe good, and he stumbled down the steps like a blind man, and we’d forgot to tell him our name, and he didn’t know the number of our house, and—­” She paused for breath and brushed back the curls from her face.  “I know he’s been looking all day.  Where does he live, Miss Frances, and what is his name?”

“If you will tell me of whom you are talking I will tell you whether or not I know him.  Until you do—­”

“I told you I didn’t remember any of his name but the Van part.  Don’t you know the name of the person you love best on earth?  It’s his name I want.”

Frances Barbour got up and walked over to the bureau and opened its top drawer.  “You are asking questions that in any one else I would not permit, Carmencita.  I am sure you do not mean to be—­”

“I don’t mean anything but that I want to know all of Mr. Van’s name, and if you don’t tell me you are not a Christian!”