“Of course,” said Billie, her eyes shining. “I’ll write to Miss Arbuckle and tell her all about it. Oh, girls, I can’t wait to see her face when she sees them. I’m sure it will make her happy again.”
They talked about Billie’s remarkable discovery late into the night, until finally sheer weariness forced them to go to bed. But in the morning they were up with the first ray of sunlight.
They told Connie’s mother and father about it at the breakfast table, and before they got through the meal the two older people were almost as interested and excited as the girls.
As soon as she could get away Billie flew upstairs to write her letter, leaving the others still at the table. The children had already had their breakfast—for like all children they woke up with the birds—and were out playing on the front porch.
“Why, I never heard anything like it!” said Connie’s mother to her equally astonished husband. “It seems like a fairy tale. But, oh, I do hope it is true—for the kiddies’ sake and for that of that poor Miss Arbuckle.”
Again and again Mrs. Danvers had tried to question the children about their parents and where they lived, but the little things had seemed to be thrown into such terror at the very first questions and had refused so absolutely to say a word that might lead to the discovery of their relatives that she had been forced to give up in despair. Just the very night before Mr. Danvers had decided to go over to the mainland and put an advertisement in all the leading papers.
“Although I rather dread to find their guardians,” he had confided to his wife that night, as they had stood looking down at the sweet little sleeping faces. “I’m falling in love with them. It’s like having Connie a baby all over again.”
And Connie’s mother had patted his arm fondly and reached down to draw a cover up over one little bare arm.
“I feel that way too,” she had said softly.
When Billie had finished her letter Mr. Danvers volunteered to take it over to the mainland for her and send it special delivery.