Early as it was some of the ladies were already there, and she made straight for the oven without telling them what she was going for.
“I almost fainted,” she told Barbara, not being far from a faint even then, “when I opened that cubby-hole door and saw the place empty I just screamed.”
“Gone!” Barbara repeated incredulously. “Who could have found it?”
“Well, you know,” sobbed Miss Davis, “there were youngsters watching in that window, and we’ve got to find that Italian boy right away, before he has a chance to sell it.”
“You mean Nickolas Marcusi?”
“I mean that little fellow who shot out in the road before us and then scurried off like a rat,” replied the woman bitterly. “Mean to say that wasn’t a guilty thing to do?”
“I couldn’t think that boy guilty of doing anything dishonorable,” Barbara retorted, “I’ve known him to be too fine a little fellow.”
“Fine little fellows can fool you, my girl,” snapped the woman who was still fanning herself with her hat although the morning was delightfully cool. “Sometimes they think it’s fun to be brave, and they think it smart to be able to steal things.”
“Nicky wouldn’t steal anything,” wailed Barbara. She never cried; but if she had been given to tears they would have flooded her eyes then. To call Nicky a thief!
“Well, come along and let’s see if we can find him,” ordered Miss Davis, for her tone was too emphatic to be otherwise termed. “No telling what a boy might do with a boat like that. He might put it on a string in the ocean. Oh, mercy me! What an unlucky woman I am? Why did I go against Tillie?” She sobbed again, and there was no denying the genuineness of her grief.