Her startled cry was caused by a sudden sound from a dark corner—a whimpering cry that might have been a baby's.
"The poor thing!" cried Nan, darting toward the sound. "They have forgotten it, I know."
"A baby in a baggage car?" gasped Bess. "Whoever heard the like?"
CHAPTER V
WAIFS AND STRAYS
"What a cruel, cruel thing!" Nan murmured.
"I never supposed the railroad took babies as baggage," said her chum wonderingly.
At that Nan uttered a laugh that was half a sob. "Silly! reach down that lantern, please. Stand on the box. I'll show you what sort of a baby it is."
Bess obeyed her injunction and brought the light. Nan was kneeling in the corner before a small crate of slats in which was a beautiful, brown-eyed, silky haired water spaniel—nothing but a puppy—that was licking her hands through his prison bars and wriggling his little body as best he could in the narrow quarters to show his affection and delight.
"Well, I never!" cried Bess, falling on her knees before the dog's carrier, and likewise worshipping. "Isn't he the cunning, tootsie-wootsie sing? 'E 'ittle dear! Oh, Nan! isn't he a love? How soft his tiny tongue is," for the puppy was indiscriminate in his expressions of affection.