"Dabley or Grabley, he's driving with one of your orphans. I see her as plain as day sitting beside him—brown face, faded black hat, sickly green frock, bundle on her lap."
"Farmer Dabley—incredible! How one can be deceived. Drive on, Matthew. We must try to overtake them. Had he one horse or two?"
"A pair, ma'am—a light-legged team—a bay and a cream. He's a regular old sport."
"He's a Mephistopheles if he's helping that child to escape," said the lady, warmly. "I'll give him a piece of my mind."
Her coachman started his horses, and the little girl under the robe was beginning to breathe freely when a shout from the young man brought her heart to her mouth.
"Say, ma'am, was that a striped or a plain shawl she had her dog wrapped in?"
"Striped—she had the impudence to steal it from the matron, and leave a note saying she did it because her jacket was locked up, and she was afraid her dog would freeze—I'm under a great obligation to you, sir."
"No obligation," he said, lifting his hat. "I'm proud to set you on the chase after such a bad young one. That's your girl, ma'am. Her shawl was striped. I didn't tell you she had the nerve to ask me to take her in."