The girls, who had been too intent on one danger to think of another, now stood up and looked about them fearfully. They found themselves in a very comfortable, clean kitchen. A kettle hummed on the little stove. On the shelves were rows of dark blue china dishes and underneath on nails hung a glistening array of tins. A white cloth was spread on the kitchen table, which was set for three, and in the center stood a bowl of wild flowers. Muslin curtains were at the windows, and near one stood a big easy chair and a small table on which were books and papers. In the brief instant in which they paused to examine this rather surprising interior, there was a step outside the door and some one lifted the latch. Finding the door bolted, there was a tap, a pause, and two more taps like a signal. The girls held a whispered conference.
“We’ll have to open the door, Nancy,” whispered Billie.
She turned the key, the latch was lifted, the door opened, and Marie-Jeanne walked into the room! There was an expression of amazed relief on the faces of all three; then they fell on each other’s necks, all laughing at once.
“But where did you get my address?” faltered Marie-Jeanne.
“We didn’t have it. It was purely accidental like the last time,” answered Billie, and they explained how they happened to wander into the tenement house, and take refuge in that room.
“Old Ritchie wouldn’t really have harmed you,” said Marie-Jeanne. “He carries on, but he never does anything. He’s quite nice when you get to know him.”
“I almost didn’t know you, Marie-Jeanne,” put in Nancy. “You have grown so plump and strong since we saw you.”
“It’s all because I am happy. One can’t be well if one isn’t happy, and I was never so happy in all my life. I’m cooking,” cried Marie-Jeanne, in the tone of one who had surmounted all obstacles and arrived at the very acme of her ambitions. “I’m cooking three meals a day. Look at my tins,—look at my stove,” she went on excitedly. “Aren’t they shiny and clean? See my blue china. Isn’t it beautiful? I love to set the table so much that I can’t wait for meal time to come because I want to make it pretty. We use candles at night.” She pointed to a pair of old silver candlesticks on the mantel shelf. “Aren’t they beautiful? I found them in an old shop.”
“But who else is with you, Marie-Jeanne, besides your mother?” asked Billie.
“Besides my mo——” began the other and broke off. “A friend,” she added.