“What is it?” asked Miss Zillah anxiously, addressing herself to the only man in the party.
But the young man was already out of the car, making investigations, and he was followed by four traveling men who plunged out of the smoking room.
“Oh, let’s go see—” began Azalea. But Miss Zillah’s hand was on her arm.
“Sit still, my dear. The gentlemen will look to the matter,” she said with the confidence of the old-time woman.
“Of course they will,” protested Azalea, half-vexed and half-laughing. “They’ll have all the fun of seeing to it. I want some of the fun myself.”
“No doubt the engine has broken down,” said Carin calmly, “and you couldn’t do anything about that, could you, Azalea?”
Constance wriggled out of her seat and started for the door, but Miss Zillah caught and held her gently.
“You are much better in here, my dear,” she said.
The child, rebuked, turned her attention to picking up the articles that had fallen from their racks. There were, in the seat where their new acquaintance had been sitting, a knapsack and an artist’s kit, marked K. O’C. in large black letters on the canvas.
“K stands for Kitty,” said Miss Constance. “O stands for Oliver. C stands for Constance.”