“But as it is we appear to be future ‘white hopes,’ not forgetting Jake,” smiled Roy, who was still panting from his exertions.

“You were awfully brave, I think,” cried Bess admiringly, giving the three “heroes” a warm glance.

“Well, there wasn’t anything to do but fight, unless we’d run away,” laughed Roy, “and now what about the cause of all the trouble?”

He glanced at the little girl clinging to Peggy’s hand.  The child was pitifully emaciated, with drawn features and large, dark eyes that gazed about her bewilderedly.  Her clothing was a red gingham dress that fitted her like a sack.  She was shoeless and stockingless.  Her brown hair, unkempt and ragged, hung in elf locks about her sad little face.  Certainly, as regarded size and general appearance, her name, “The Wren,” fitted her admirably.

“I don’t know what to do about her,” admitted Peggy; “suppose we ask Aunt Sally?  I don’t want to let the gipsies have her again, and yet I don’t see how we can take her.”

At the words the little creature burst into a frantic outbreak.

“Don’t let those people have me back; don’t,” she begged; “they’ll kill me if you do.”

She clung passionately to Peggy’s dress.  Tears came to the girl’s eyes at the pitiful manifestation of fear.

“There! there, dear,” soothed Peggy, stroking the child’s head, “you shan’t go back if we can help it.  Come with us for the time being, anyway.”

“But we have no legal right to take her,” objected Roy.

“Don’t say another word,” snapped the usually gentle Peggy, whose indignation had been fully aroused, “come on.  Let’s get back to where we left Aunt Sally, then we can decide what to do.”

“Incidentally, we’ll do well to get out of this vicinity before any more of those fellows come up.  There must be several more somewhere close at hand,” exclaimed Jimsy.

“Yes; and I’ll bet the others, the two who ran off, have gone to call them,” put in Roy; “that woman has disappeared, too.”

No time was lost in getting back to the aeroplanes, “The Wren,” as the gipsies called her, keeping tight hold of Peggy’s hand.  The boys walked behind and, with Jake, formed a sort of rear guard to ward off any possible attack.  But either the other members of the band were far off, or else they did not care to attempt an assault, for the party reached the aeroplanes without further incident or molestation.

Miss Prescott’s consternation may be imagined as she listened to the tale they had to tell.  From time to time during its relation she glanced pityingly at the Wren.

“Poor child!” she exclaimed, gazing at the wizened little creature’s bruised arms.  They were black and blue from rough handling, and bore painful testimony to the life she had lived among the gipsies.

“What is your name, dear?” she asked, motioning to the child as Peggy finished her story.