After breakfast the girls scattered to their chosen occupations, and Mrs. Littell settled herself to read to her husband on the glass enclosed piazza that extended half way across the back of the house. The car was brought round for Betty and Bobby and, commissioned to do several small errands in town, they set off.
"Now where are we going?" demanded Bobby bouncing around on the seat cushions more like a girl of seven than fourteen. "Do tell me, for I'm simply devoured with curiosity."
So Betty briefly outlined for her a little of Bob's history and of what she knew Lockwood Hale had told the poorhouse master. She also explained how she had obtained the old bookshop man's address from the bride they had met in the Monument the day before.
The rain came down steadily, and the country road was already muddy, showing that it had stormed the greater part of the night. Carter was a careful driver, and the luxurious limousine had been substituted for the touring car so that the girls were protected and very comfortable. Quite suddenly Carter brought the car to a stop on a lonely stretch of road just above a sharp turn.
"Goodness, I hope he hasn't a puncture," said Bobby. "I was so interested in listening to you I never heard anything. What's wrong, Carter?" she called.
"There's a little dog in the road, Miss Bobby," said Carter slowly and distinctly, as he always spoke. Bobby had once declared that she did not believe a fire would shake Carter from his drawling speech. "A puppy, I guess you'd call it. I'll have to move it to one side before we can drive past, because it is in the middle of the road."
Bobby leaned out to look.
"It must be hurt!" she cried. "Bring it in here, quick, Carter. Why, it's just a tiny puppy, Betty," she added; "a black and white one."
Carter, mingled pain and reproach in his face, brought the dog to them, holding it gingerly away from him so as not to soil his coat.
"It's very muddy, Miss Bobby," he said disapprovingly. "Your mother won't like them nice gray cushions all stained up."