“Mr. Summers said that Mr. McEvoy would meet us no matter what happened,” said Miss Zillah, “and I take it that what Mr. Summers says is so.”
“Of course it’s so,” Azalea assured her. “We’ll certainly be met, Miss Zillah. But even if we shouldn’t be, there’d be some place for us to stay. There are houses at Bee Tree, aren’t there? Or do you think there is only a tree?”
“Oh, there are houses,” put in Constance. “Daddy goes there to get his letters and the groceries.”
“Why don’t you get off at Bee Tree with us?” asked Azalea. “Then we can look after you.”
“Oh, no,” said the child. “Daddy wrote that I was to get off at Rowantree Road. It’s ever so much nearer our house. I must do just what papa said. If he was there waiting for me and I stayed on the train, he’d feel dread-ful-ly.”
She made a very long word of “dreadfully,” separating the syllables in her queer way.
The conductor of the train overheard what was being said.
“I tell you what it is, Miss Constance,” he said: “I’ll have to see your father standing right there before me ready to take you in charge before I’ll let you off in those woods alone. It will be plumb night before we get to your place.”
“Now, see here, conductor,” said one of the traveling men, “let one of us boys get off with the little girl. It won’t do at all for her to be dropped in the woods.”
“Draw lots to see who does it,” proposed another of the traveling men, and began tearing up pieces of paper. “Here, you fellows!”