“You don’t think he took it?”
“No, I don’t. But I feel he would know something about it,” Babs insisted.
“So do I: I might as well admit that,” Cara promptly added. “But say, Babs, did you ever find out anything at all about who did the beautiful wood carving?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“It must have been done in Nicky’s home.”
“Why? He could have gone out for it, some place.”
“Hardly. Because one morning Dud went around to the house and gave the whistle he had learned to call Nicky with. When Nicky answered him his sweater pockets were filled with fine wood shavings. Dud said he kept playing with the shavings and smelling of their sandalwood odor. There wasn’t a doubt about it they came straight from Nicky’s house.”
“That’s very queer,” Babs pondered. “No one but a man could do such skilled work, and who could the man be? That family is helped by the town, you know. They have no real means of support, since their father was taken from them.”
“Well, I’ve got to go now,” Cara decided after a glance at her watch. “Mother is coming over to the club, the Community House of course. She has spent the morning digging up family relics. Hope she hasn’t unearthed any of my love letters,” the girl chuckled. “They would be worth exhibiting.”
“Or any of your early attempts at art,” added Babs. “They’d make quite a showing if Mrs. Brownell would let you put them on easels on her old mahogany table.”