"
He tossed it into her lap. Mollie's blue eyes sparkled. She was only
seventeen, poor child, and she liked money for what money brought.
"I shall leave you now," Mr. Walraven said, looking at his watch. "Three
o'clock, Mollie, and time for rehearsal. I shall go and see Cricket
to-night, and to-morrow morning Cricket must be ready to go with me.
Until then, my adopted daughter, adieu!"
That night, when the green curtain went up, the strange gentleman sat in
the front seat for the second time, and gazed on the antics of Fanchon,
the Cricket.
The girl played it well, because she played her own willful, tricky
self, and she kissed her taper fingers to the enraptured audience, and
felt sorry to think it might be for the last time.
Next morning, as demure as a little nun, in her traveling suit of gray,
Miss Cricket took her seat beside her new-made guardian, and was whirled
away to New York.
"Pray, what am I to call you?" she asked, as they sat side by side. "Am
I to keep at a respectful distance, and say 'Mr. Walraven,' or, as I am
your adopted daughter, is it to be papa?"
"Well, Cricket, personally I have no objection, of course; but, then,
'papa'--don't you think 'papa' might set people asking questions, now?"
"Very true; and some clever person might get investigating, and find out
you were my papa in reality.
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