"Did it hurt it when it fell?" Anne asked him.
"I think it broke one of its little fins," laughed David. "It hurt me much more than itself, because it wouldn't be good and fly all the way."
"Anne," called Grace, "here is some one looking for you. It's a boy with a note."
Anne looked frightened as she opened a soiled looking envelope the boy handed her.
"Is anything the matter?" asked Jessica, seeing the expression of fear on her face.
"No—yes——," answered poor little Anne, undecidedly. "I must go home, or rather I mustn't go the way I came. Don't you think I could leave at a side entrance? I don't want to see the person who is waiting for me in front."
"Of course, child," spoke up Grace. "We'll see you home ourselves. Won't we, girls!"
"Wait until I lock up my motor cycle and I'll go along," called David. "We'll all protect Miss Anne."
"Tell him," said Anne to the boy, putting the note back in the envelope and giving it to him, "that what he asks is impossible."
"Couldn't you squeeze us into the carriage, mother?" asked David, returning presently with his hat.