“And her coat is of the best possible quality. Look at the fineness of the cloth.”
“Well, what about it?”
“I can’t make it out. If it were a poor child, I’d think it a case of abandonment. Oh, Patty, I’ll tell you! Somebody kidnapped a rich child, and then they became frightened, and slipped her into your car to save themselves from discovery.”
“Why, of course that’s it! How clever you are, Nan, to think it out! For she is a refined, sweet baby, not a bit like a slum child.”
This was true. The dark curls that clustered on the baby’s brow were fine and soft, her little hands were well cared for, and her raiment was immaculate and of the best. But they searched in vain for any name or distinguishing mark on her clothes. Even the coat and cap had no maker’s tag in them, though it was evident that there had been.
“See,” said Patty, “they’ve ripped out the store tag! The kidnappers did that. Did the bad mans take you, baby?”
“No, Muddy b’ing baby. Des Muddy.”
“Muddy is, of course, her mother. Now, we know her mother never put the child in the car, so I guess we can’t depend on her story.”
“Ess,” and the little one grew emphatic. “Muddy did b’ing Middy. An’ Muddy did put Middy in au’mobile.”
“Well, I give it up. She seems to know what she’s talking about, but I do believe she was kidnapped. We’ll have to keep her for a day or two. It’ll be in the papers, of course.”