Arthur related in all its detail his experience with Silva Burle. “It made me wild,” he admitted, “to think that a girl could find a path that I couldn’t see and get away from me when I could run twice as fast as she—Well not twice as fast,” he corrected himself honestly, “but a great deal faster.”
“Well of course Silva’s a queer girl,” was Rosie’s comment. She added, “She won’t be running down any paths for some time yet I’m afraid, poor thing!”
“I think Silva had something to do with that baby,” Arthur guessed shrewdly.
“What nonsense!” Rosie said briskly. “What would she be doing taking care of somebody’s baby in the woods?”
“But she had a bottle of milk under her arm,” Arthur persisted.
“Yes,” Rosie said in an uncertain voice, “and that reminds me that I have seen her before carrying bottles of milk.”
“Oh I think somebody’s probably left that baby there for the day,” Laura said, “some tramp—or somebody.”
“But it must have been the baby crying that frightened us on the day of the picnic,” Harold declared.
“Well then,” Laura explained, “it was the same baby and the same people, whoever they were, left the baby in the cave that day too.”