“Yes, it’s Anne,” said the Captain quietly. “She’s all tired out and excited. We got to put her to bed and let her sleep. It’s a long time till mornin,’ Anne. It’ll be all right in the mornin’.”
For Anne had tried to ask him one question. He knew she had heard the gossip. He saw she was confused with something she wanted to tell him. But he only smoothed her hair and said she must go to bed. And strangely enough, already Anne felt quieted and comforted, and ready for sleep, in this house which no longer seemed strange to her, but in the best sense, “homely.”
Aunt Polly took her upstairs to a little chamber adjoining Nelly’s. Nelly was still out with the crowd on the hill, watching the last of Idlewild. It was a dear little room, all furnished with pretty things in perfect order, as if it had not been used for a long time. “It was Anna’s room,” said Aunt Polly, softly moving about to get some of Nelly’s things for Anne’s use, “the Captain’s daughter who died, you know. It’s the guest room now. You ought to feel at home in it, Anne. You have ’most the same name! Now you sleep sound till we wake you up.”
CHAPTER XIX
NEWS
For years Chester F. Poole had been taking the money of other persons to line his own pockets. The savings of the simple people, his neighbors,—lumbermen, fishermen, farmers and the widows of poor sailors—had gone into his bank, because they trusted him. And out of this bank he had built his fine houses and paid for his expensive living. Now he was found out; and being a coward he had run away. If the law could catch him he would have to go to prison. But the money was gone and spent; nobody could pay back those too-trusting men and women and little children whom he had ruined. And what was to become of them?
This, in a few words, was what had filled the newspapers with gossip the day before, but which only Tante, Hugh and Victor had happened to see. But after the wild night at the fire it was no longer a secret to anyone. Round Robin was an excited camp the next morning, with so much to talk over. And because Anne was not there they could talk freely, about both the fire and the bank failure. But it was about Anne herself that they were most concerned. Poor Anne! Could anything be more dreadful than to be the daughter of such a man? Poor little Golden Girl, whose gold had all worn off, because it was only cheap gilt after all!
“What will become of Anne, Tante?” asked Norma. “If Mr. Poole has lost every cent and must go to prison besides, what will his wife and children do?”
Tante shook her head. “His wife has relatives of her own, I believe,” she said. “But, of course, they are not Anne’s relatives. Mrs. Poole is her stepmother. It is too soon yet to know what Anne will do. Maybe it will not be as bad as it seems now.” Nobody could guess what Tante meant, but her words seemed to make things a little better.
It had taken some time to make Gilda understand what all the fuss was about. But when she did realize, she was filled with horror at this terribly unjust thing which had happened in her beloved America.