“Not that I know of,” she replied, as she hunted some buns and milk for the boy, who ate hungrily, as usual.
Suddenly he stopped eating, and peering towards the living room, listened intently.
“Do my ears deceive me, or is somebody snitching my Lizzie?” He jumped up and ran to the living-room window.
“No, I think that’s the station taxicab,” replied Linda. “Its engine sounds like a boiler factory.”
“Almost as loud as an airplane’s!” teased Mike.
“Who is it, Linda? Who is that getting out of the cab?” demanded Amy holding the other girl’s arm tensely. “Do you know her?”
“No,” replied Linda, as she watched a woman in black who was coming up the porch steps. “She’s a stranger to me—oh—maybe—Amy, do you remember her?” She peered anxiously into the younger girl’s face.
The latter shook her head sorrowfully.
“No, I don’t. Not a glimmer—not even a vague memory, like I had when I saw that man at the tennis matches.”
“What man?”