What should she do?  There was no sign of Uncle John, and the passengers who had arrived with her were fast disappearing.  Very soon the people in the station would begin to notice her, to ask questions, and then perhaps some police-officer would take her to the police-station, as a lost child.  She’d heard that that was what they always did.  It was just as this thought came into her head that she caught sight of one of those very big burly blue-coated individuals.  He had his hand on the collar of a boy about her own age, and she heard him say to him in a big burly voice,—­

“What yer hangin’ ’round here for?  Lost, eh?  That’s a likely story.  Come, off with yer, if yer don’t want ter be locked up!”

Poor little Ally didn’t stop to reason,—­to think of the difference in the outward appearance of herself and the boy,—­to see that the policeman knew the boy perfectly well for a mischievous young scamp who was up to no good.  She didn’t stop to consider anything; but with those words, “If yer don’t want ter be locked up,” ringing in her ears, she turned and ran from the station-building as fast as her legs could carry her.  As she came out upon the sidewalk, she saw the colored lights of a street car.  Oh, joy, it was the very up-town car that would take her close to Beacon Street!  But oh, horror!  She suddenly recollected that Uncle John no longer lived on Beacon Street.  He had moved last month into a new house on Marlborough Street, and oh, what was the number?  She “had heard Uncle Tom read it from a letter.  It had a lot of 9’s in it.  Nine hundred and—­why—­99—­999, three 9’s; yes, yes, that was it;” and with this conviction, Ally gave a hop skip and a jump into the car, just as it was about to start off, for this very car she knew would take her nearer to Marlborough Street than to Beacon Street.  Her spirits rose as she felt herself carried along; and in due time she found the three 9’s, and tripped up the steps of the house in Marlborough Street bearing that number.  Her heart beat very fast with a sense of relief and injury, mixed with a certain elation at her own enterprise, as she rang the bell.  Wouldn’t they be surprised, and wouldn’t Uncle John—­But some one opening the door scattered her questioning thoughts; and—­why, who was this somebody?  It must be a new servant with the new house, and a manservant too.  Uncle John must be getting better off,—­they had had only two maids before.  It never entered Ally’s head to ask the strange servant if Mr. Fleming lived there.  Why should she ask what she was so sure of?  She simply asked, “Where’s Uncle John and Aunt Kate and the rest of them?”

The man looked bewildered, and repeated, “Uncle John?”

“Yes, Uncle John and Aunt Kate.  I’m Ally, and Uncle John telegraphed that he would meet me at the five-o’clock train, and he wasn’t there, and I came up all alone.  Where are they?  In the parlor?” and Ally stepped in over the threshold.