“Mercy! and I never even knew we stopped there,” laughed Molly. Then suddenly she uttered a suppressed shriek and fell back from the berths.
“What’s the matter?” demanded the startled Beth, sitting up wildly and bumping her head.
“What—what’s that?” asked the other girl, pointing.
“Oh! Ow! Ouch!” groaned Beth, placing both hands tenderly on her poor, bruised crown. “What is the matter with you, Molly Granger?”
Then she remembered Cynthia Fogg and carefully crept down from her berth. In the lower berth, the freckled runaway was wound up in the blanket like an Egyptian mummy in its wrappings, quite unconscious of what was going on about her.
“For mercy’s sake!” repeated Molly. “Did that grow there in the night?”
“Oh dear me, no!” gasped Beth, between laughing and weeping, for the bump hurt. “That’s Cynthia.”
“What?”
“Cynthia Fogg.”
“Goodness! Did you have her in your bag? Was that why I didn’t see her before?” asked Molly Granger.