“Wait!” cried Bobby, earnestly. “Maybe I can help you some more.”
“No. I don’t need anybody to help me. I can take care of myself,” replied the Gypsy girl, sullenly.
She mastered the door-latch, pulled the door open, and ran out into the rain. In half a minute she was flying up the street, and not until she was out of sight did Bobby remember something that might be of great importance in explaining the mystery.
“Why, Miss Carrington always writes her name ‘Grace Gee Carrington,’” exclaimed Bobby. “There’s the eighteen letters that the girl is looking for. I never thought of that!”
[CHAPTER IX—THE GYPSIES AGAIN]
When the rain stopped, Bobby went around to the other entrance and reported herself to Miss Carrington. That teacher always doubted Bobby’s excuses, and this time she shook her head over the girl’s tardiness.
“You told me you had plenty of time to do your errand within the limit of the recess, Miss Hargrew,” said Gee Gee. “Do better next time, please.”
“She always acts as though she thought I had an India rubber imagination,” muttered Bobby, to her nearest seatmate, “and that I was always stretching it.”
“Miss Hargrew, please refrain from communicating in lesson time!” snapped the ever-watchful teacher.
“Dear me!” murmured Bobby. “She’s got me again. I do have the worst luck.”