“No, let’s wait till the aunt appears,” said Marjorie; “and then go.”
All this time Ethel had been scanning the newspaper for news, but she did not find even the slightest report from the police.
“You see the papers didn’t have sufficient facts to warrant a story,” she remarked. “So I should think—”
“Good morning, girls! Has Anna been heard from?” interrupted a woman’s voice from the stairs, and, looking up, they saw Mrs. McCreedy enter the room. She was a middle-aged person, of stolid build, not at all the type one would expect to find nervous or imaginative.
“Good morning, Mrs. McCreedy,” said Mrs. Munsen, pleasantly. “No news yet; but we are expecting to hear any minute. You met the girls last night. How do you feel this morning?”
“Much better,” replied the other. “In fact, I’d feel all right, if I wasn’t worried about Anna.”
“Let’s have breakfast,” suggested Mrs. Munsen; “and you can tell us the whole story.”
They all sat down at the table, and the girls turned expectant, questioning faces towards their visitor. They were more interested in hearing what she had to say than in eating their food.
“Well,” began Mrs. McCreedy, “you remember Mrs. Munsen and the young lady left the tea-house just about twelve o’clock—and the party broke up right away. Two or three of the fellows wanted to hang around and help put the things back in place, but Anna wouldn’t hear of it. She said her orders was twelve o’clock, and she meant to stick by them.
“After everybody was gone, we gathered up the food and put it away, and then went straight up stairs to the room where the army cots are, and spread out our blankets. We took off our good dresses, and put on our work dresses which we had brought with us, for we didn’t want to be bothered with night clothes.