“I was going to bring her into the house.”
“Why, Freddie Bobbsey! What in the world made you do that?” his mother asked. “Didn’t I tell you never to try to carry May?”
“I didn’t want the old lady to get her!”
“What old lady?” asked Mrs. Bobbsey, though she knew, almost without asking, what person Freddie must mean.
“That same old lady,” Freddie replied. “The one with the green umbrella, but she didn’t have a green umbrella this time. She had on a faded shawl and—”
“Did she try to come in here and get May?” asked Mrs. Bobbsey, now almost as much excited as Freddie was. “Where is she? Where did she go?”
“She didn’t come in,” the little boy replied. “But she put her hand on the gate and I yelled and—”
“Yes, I heard you,” gasped Mrs. Bobbsey. “But go on—what else happened, Freddie?”
“Nothing, Mother. She just went away—down the street.”
Mrs. Bobbsey hastened to the gate and looked up and down the street, but she saw no sign of the curious old woman.