"I'll like that," said Jeanne.
"After lunch, we'll show you a little bit of Chicago—Lincoln Park, I think—and then we'll give you some dinner and put you on your train. You needn't worry about anything. Our young railroad man, here, has it all fixed up for you."
"That's lovely," said Jeanne, gratefully.
"Any adventures along the way?" asked Allen, who had carried the suitcase and the work-box, too, all the way to the automobile.
"Only one," said Jeanne. "I lost Bayard Taylor. He was a great American traveler, you know. We had him in school—"
"Was it a book?" asked Mrs. Rossiter. "Perhaps we can inquire—"
"I found him again," laughed Jeanne. "He was my pet snail."
"Where is he now?" asked Allen.
"In my stocking," confessed Jeanne. "Aunt Agatha had my jacket pockets sewed up so they wouldn't get bulgy. You see, I wanted a kitten or a baby or a puppy or any kind of a pet; but Aunt Agatha doesn't like pets—her own children never had any. But I just had to have something. And Bayard Taylor is it. A snail is a lovely pet. He is so small that nobody notices him. He doesn't need much to eat and he's so easy to carry around."
"I hope he doesn't do any traveling while he's in your stocking," laughed Mrs. Rossiter.