intelligent-to-work alien grinding out the opera of the poor. The music was too much for Pollyooly's dignity; it was too much for her years. She gave the Lump into the care of a somewhat black Alsatian maiden and joined the dancing children.
She danced lightly, with a natural grace and a delightful abandon. She danced with a spirit so entranced that she did not notice the presence of the big man with the sombrero hat and the mop of curls till she stopped to take breath, and he was patting her on the back.
"What did I tell you, James?" he cried in a ringing, sonorous voice to the slight, keen-eyed man who was with him. "I have always said that the fairies have migrated to the slums because only there can they find that atmosphere of the vivid joy of life in which alone they can live."
"Vivid joy of grandmother!" said Mr. James unsympathetically.
"But here—here in Alsatia we have seen a fairy dance," cried the big man with a loudness little short of roaring.
"You idealists!" said Mr. James in a scoffing tone.
"You moderns! You disgusting moderns!"
