It was Marjorie’s turn to work in the afternoon the following day, so she decided to sleep late in the morning, in order to rest from the excitement of the previous day. Not desiring any breakfast, she was still in bed at ten o’clock when Marie Louise burst into her room with a startling piece of news.
“Marj!” she cried, breathlessly, “your little dog is dead!”
“What little dog?” demanded Marjorie, entirely forgetting the stray animal that had come to the tea-house with the stranger.
“That little dog you fed yesterday, and allowed to sleep in the garage!”
“What’s that?” asked Marjorie, recalling the creature vaguely. “Tell me about it.”
Marie Louise sat down on the bed and made a great effort to speak calmly.
“Well, you know Lily and Florence and I were scheduled to be down at the tea-house this morning to make sandwiches, and Lily decided to go get the car at the garage. While she was waiting for the man to finish washing it, a dog came in, and that reminded her of the little stray one that came to you yesterday.”
“Yes—yes—go on!” urged Marjorie. “It wasn’t the same dog, was it?”
“Oh, no indeed! But she told us the story of the old man, and the dog he picked up, and his weird tale about the horse.”
“I’m glad she told you before you got to the tea-house where Anna could hear!” remarked Marjorie. “If you girls scare her away with all this rubbish—”