"Yes, sir," agreed James, accustomed to blind obedience.
"You are to find out what time the through train leaves for Chicago. Tonight's train, I mean. Be ready to go to the station at that time. You are to buy a ticket from here to Bancroft, Michigan—Upper Michigan—for my granddaughter. Reserve the necessary berths—she will have two nights on the sleeper. You will find money in the left-hand drawer of my dresser. If it isn't enough, you will lend me some—she will need something extra for meals and so forth. And remember, not a word to anybody. If necessary, go outside to telephone about the train."
"Very well, sir," said James. "I understand, sir—and by Jinks! I'm with you!"
"Good. Now, Jeannette, as soon as we know what time that train goes—"
"I do know," said Jeanne. "Nine-thirty, P.M. I have that time-card—the one that Allen Rossiter gave me—with the trains marked right through to Bancroft. But James had better make sure that the time hasn't been changed. And please, couldn't he send a telegram to Allen, in Chicago, to meet me! I have his address."
"Of course," returned Mr. Huntington. "I had forgotten that. Allen will be of great assistance. Now, go very quietly to your room. You are not to say good-by to anybody. No one but James is to know that you are going. Put on something fit to travel in and pack as many useful clothes as your suitcase will hold—things that you can wear in Bancroft. Have your hat and gloves where you can find them quickly and take your money with you. James will take care of everything else. Now go."
When Mr. Huntington said "Now go," people usually went. Jeanne wanted to throw her arms about her grandfather's neck, and say a thousand thank-yous, but plainly this was not the time.
She flew to her room. Fortunately the house was practically deserted, for Jeanne was too excited to remember to be quiet. Mr. and Mrs. Charles Huntington, however, had left at two o'clock for a long motoring trip to the country, and would not be home until midnight. It was Bridget's afternoon out and Maggie was busy in the kitchen.
"All the things I don't want," said she, opening her closet door, "I'll hang on this side. I shan't need any party clothes for the Cinder Pond. Nor any white shoes."
Of course the suitcase wouldn't hold everything; no suitcase ever does. Jeanne's selection was really quite wonderful. She would have liked to buy presents for all the children, but there was no time for that. Besides, to the Cinder Pond child, the city streets had always been terrifying. She had never visited the shopping district alone. But there was a cake of "smelly" white soap to take to Sammy and an outgrown linen dress to cut down for Annie, and perhaps Allen would find her something in Chicago for the others. She hoped Sammy wouldn't eat the soap.