Cara could see it was Nicky who was with Babs, although the boy’s form was almost entirely shrouded in the heavy vines that clambered all over the end of the porch.
Then a child’s voice, heavy with sobs, called out too loud to be unheard by any one on that porch.
“But I’ve got to. I tell you we must have it. I’ve got to——”
“Hush!” checked Babs. “They’ll hear you. Don’t worry, Nicky, it will be all right. You can trust us, can’t you?”
“Yes, I can trust you,” came the reluctant answer.
“And no one will know you came,” said Babs very softly, but her voice was perfectly distinct to the other girl in her uncomfortable hiding place.
“I’ve got to get back,” Cara told herself. “I must not let them know I was here.” She just slipped quietly over the rail, between the big bushes, and when Babs, her face strangely flushed, came back to her tasks at the show-room, Cara was just folding up another quilt and forcing little squeaks of pretended admiration, so that Mrs. Baker would be pleased.
But what was the matter with Nicky?
What was he and Babs hiding?
Why was that brave little fellow sobbing so heavily?