"Then take me, too," returned the child calmly.
"No, no," reproved Constance gently, "Charlie can't go to-night."
A grieved look crept into the big black eyes. Without further words the quaint little boy limped over to the old man, whom Constance had addressed as Uncle John, and hid behind him.
Forgetting formality, tender-hearted Marjorie sprang after him. She knelt beside him and gathered him into her arms. He made no resistance, merely regarded her with wistful curiosity.
"Listen, dear little man," she said, "you and Constance and I will go to the place where the big band plays some Saturday afternoon, and we'll sit on the front seat where you can see every single thing they do. Won't that be nice?"
The boy nodded and slipped his tiny hand in hers. "I'm going to play in the band when I grow up," he confided. "Connie can go to-night if she promises to tell me all about it afterward."
"You dear little soul," bubbled Marjorie, stroking his thick hair that fell carelessly over his forehead and almost into his bright eyes.
"I'll tell you all about everything, Charlie," promised Constance.
"That means you will go," cried Marjorie, joyfully, rising from the floor, the child's hand still in hers.
"Yes, I will," returned Constance hesitatingly, "only—I—haven't anything pretty to wear."