At this last word all the children pricked up their ears, especially Maggie. She, being the most timid of the three, had been the most broken down by terror, and had, until now, remained in the very depths of despair. But it was really almost a consolation to hear this called “an adventure,” and to remember that here was a subject for the most interesting of letters, provided they ever again reached home and friends, and had the opportunity of writing such. She was still rather doubtful how this was to be brought about, in spite of Mr. “Bad Hat’s” assurances.
“Why! so it is an adventure,” said Bessie; “and Maggie said she wished we’d have some great adventure, but she didn’t mean this kind of a one; did you, Maggie?”
“No, indeed I didn’t,” sobbed Maggie.
“But you can write a letter about it,” said Belle, catching her breath between almost every two words; “and it will be so interesting: all the people you know will want to read it.”
Belle, as well as Bessie, had the greatest admiration for Maggie’s letters, and thought them the most marvellous works of genius.
“Of course they will,” said the gentleman, whom our little strays were already beginning to look upon as a friend. “And so, Maggie writes letters, does she? I wish she would write one to me one of these days.”
“But she don’t know your name,” said Bessie.
“Well, perhaps she might find out. I am not ashamed of it. But I think this little lady has found a name for me. When I came in the car I heard her say, ‘There’s the bad hat man.’ Now suppose Maggie writes a letter and directs it to the ‘bad hat man,’ do you think it would reach me?”
“Yes, I fink it would,” said Belle with emphasis, and eyeing the hat with a look which seemed to add, “there’s no possibility of mistaking that hat.”