Wild ideas surged through her mind of disguising herself and sweeping a crossing--there were stories of wealthy crossing-sweepers--or rivaling Charlie Chaplin on the cinema stage, but somehow they did not seem quite practicable for a girl of sixteen.

She left Quenrede's question unanswered.

It was only late on Saturday afternoon that a great idea came to her.

Great--but so overwhelming that she winced at the bare notion.

It was as if some inner voice said to her: "Sell Derry!" Now Derry, the fox terrier, was her very own property.