“Do not cry out, Madam,” said the robber sternly, “or it will go hard with you.”
“Be still,” whispered little Mollie, bravely taking Miss Stuart’s hand and patting it gently.
“And now, ladies,” continued the man more politely, “I must ask you to put all your money and jewelry in a pile here. Stand up,” he said to Barbara. “Put it on this seat and leave out nothing or you will regret it.”
The five women began mechanically to remove what simple jewelry they happened to be wearing, for the most part pins, rings, bracelets and watches, the latter Ruth’s and Grace’s. Then came the pocket books, Mollie’s little blue silk knitted purse topping the pyramid.
“But this is not all your money,” said the robber impatiently. “Do not delay. It is getting late.”
“I have some more in my bag,” said Ruth faintly. “Mollie, it is on the back seat. Will you hand it to me?”
Mollie searched with trembling hands for the bag which was stored somewhere under the seat.
“And have you nothing in that bag?” asked the highwayman, turning roughly to Barbara.
She did not answer at first. Her lips were moving silently and the others thought she must be praying. Only Mollie knew she was repeating, for the second time since they had left home, the words her mother had taught her: “Heaven make me calm in the face of danger.”
The highwayman laid his hand on the bag, flourishing his knife in a menacing way.