And now they say it may be two hours before it arrives; so, instead of getting to Washita at half-past six, it will be long after nine, and we'll be too late to give our performance. And that will be a very d-r-eadful loss to the Queen."
"How's that?" said the Great Man. "One night can't make very much difference."
"Oh, but this is Saturday night, and the whole house was sold long ago. Washita's the best show town in the State, you know, and the Queen was counting on the money.
"You see, it's been a dreadfully poor season in the profession, and even the Queen has lost heaps. And just now when she found out we'd be late, her face got all white, and she hung onto my hand, oh, so hard, and said—"
Here the child stopped suddenly and, digging her little fists into the chair, blinked very fast and caught her breath. Then,
"It quite upsets me to think of it," she said in a muffled little voice. "The Queen said that she was afraid that the company would have to disband now, and the season's hardly begun."
Two great tears rolled down the white little face.
The man stirred uneasily. There was a deep line between his eyebrows.
"That is hard luck!" he exclaimed. "But, then," with an affected hardihood, "after all she's only a play queen, you know, and I presume she's—well—roughed it before. Anyway, you'll probably all find nice engagements soon, and be just as well off as you are now."
"How can you say that?" the child flashed out. "Of course we can't be so happy with any one else. There never was any one half so sweet, and kind, and beautiful as she is. And we all love her dearly. And, besides, if the rest are make-believes, she isn't; she is a real queen all the time!"
The child had risen. Her shabby hat had fallen to the floor and her big hazel eyes blazed angrily out of her pale little face. The next moment, with a shame-faced lowering of her head, she slid nearer to the Great Man's side.
"I—you must excuse me if I hurt your feelings," she said humbly. "The Queen wouldn't like it if she thought I'd done
