And so it was that Gwenny came home.
Mr. Horton sped to his own home as fast as he dared drive the car, the chauffeur sitting silently beside him. Robert was too happy to let anyone else handle the wheel. Once more he dashed up the steps three at a time, whistling. Rosanna was at the door.
“Be careful of your heart, Uncle Robert,” she whispered, looking around to see that her grandmother was not within hearing. “Were they pleased?”
“Were they?” said Uncle Robert. “I should say they were! Everybody perfectly happy! Gwenny staring around her pretty room, and Mrs. Harter crying in the sink. Yes, everybody is happy. Teedle-ee, teedle-oo!” warbled Uncle Robert.
“How good and kind you are, dear Uncle Robert!” said Rosanna tenderly.
“Yes, ain’t I?” said Uncle Robert, deliberately ungrammatical. “Oh, yes, I be!” he went on chanting, as he sat down and fished out a cigarette. Then changing to a sober tone, “Rosanna, whom do you think I found in Cincinnati? Up there at that Hospital as large as life?”
“I don’t know,” said Rosanna.
“Well, if you will believe me, there was that bad little bit of a Miss Hooker, who had come back from Atlantic City to see that Gwenny was all right. She helped me bring them home. And Rosanna, perhaps I didn’t get even with her, for what she said about my being funny! You know I told you I would. I did! It was hard, hard work but I done it, I done it! Tra-la-de-lu-de-lu-de-i-i-i-i-i!” yodeled Uncle Robert, whisking the ash off his cigarette.
“What did you do to her?” asked Rosanna in a small, fearful voice.
Uncle Robert looked very sternly at Rosanna.