Her father clutched her arm contentedly. And Babs was, as always, immensely proud of him. He did not “mix up much” according to popular opinion, but he was always to be depended upon when anything educational was astir.
Babs was dragging him along through the crowd. Folks were smiling and bowing to them, for everybody knew, or knew of, Dr. Winthrop Hale.
“Here, over here, Dad,” marshalled Barbara, as gaily as she could manage to be.
She gave one vigorous push through a close tangle in the crowd, and emerged in front of the chairman; she had been going after the hat she recognized as belonging to Mrs. Frederick Winters.
And standing with Mrs. Winters was little Miss Davis. She was so short Barbara could not have seen her until she was right alongside of her.
For a moment Babs felt too panicky to speak. And what could she say with her father standing there smiling? His hat in his hand made him look quite professional, Babs knew, for it was a soft gray hat and he carried it like the gentleman he was.
But Miss Davis!
“Oh, Miss Davis!” burst out Babs without knowing she was going to. “Just see what we have brought. Daddy found it in the attic.” She was chattering like a squirrel. “Isn’t it wonderful? My great-great-grandmother Nelson’s!”
“Nelson’s!” exclaimed Miss Davis. “Nelson of Massachusetts! Why Dr. Hale! You don’t tell me you are related to Mary Nelson?”
“My great-grandmother, Madam,” said the doctor proudly, bringing the gray hat in and out suavely.