"Can't help grinning like a possum," answered Pat, with a chuckle. "Every mile is taking us nearer Anne. How she'll jump and squeal 'oo-ee'—when she sees us! And—look here, Aunt Sarah—" he glanced cautiously around to be sure that he was not observed, then opened his travelling-bag and displayed a doll's dress—blue silk with frills and lace ruffles. "I bought it in an F Street shop yesterday—for Honey-Sweet, you know," he explained. "Gee! It'll tickle Anne for me to give that doll a present. She'll—" he whistled a bar of ragtime.
Miss Drayton laughed heartily. The gift set aside so completely the lapse of time that she could fancy she saw Anne running to meet them, her tawny hair flying in the wind and Honey-Sweet clasped in her arms.
According to its habit, the Southern train was behind time. Instead of early afternoon, it was twilight when Miss Drayton and Pat reached their station. Dusk was deepening into drizzling night when their cab set them down at the gate of the 'Home.' They were ushered through the prim hall into the superintendent's office. Miss Farlow rose from her desk.
"You are in charge of this institution?" asked Miss Drayton.
"I am Miss Farlow, the superintendent."
"I am Miss Drayton from Washington City. This is my nephew, Patrick Patterson. We are friends of Anne Lewis."
"You have news of her?" asked Miss Farlow, starting eagerly forward.
"News? We have come to see her—to take her home with us—to give her a home," explained Miss Drayton.
Miss Farlow sank back on her chair, and buried her face in her hands. The quiet, reserved woman was weeping bitterly. "If we only had her, if we only had her!" she moaned. "Poor little motherless, fatherless one! Oh, it was my fault. I failed in my duty. I tried to do right by her. God knows I did."
"What is the matter? What do you mean?" Miss Drayton was frightened. Was the child dead? injured? She dared not ask. "Anne—where is she?" she faltered at last.