But Jack was better, she kept telling herself guiltily, for the news brought her only a meager satisfaction. Why couldn’t the old doctor have known? And why couldn’t old Alty have gone to the station herself and attended to her own unpleasant business? Because the need was so slight and the loss seemed truly crushing.
Trixy and Jane were coming back. She heard their voices, and made a brave effort to look like herself for Jane’s sake. Deliberately she gathered the unfinished essay and thrust it under the table cover. That would be the end of it. There was no possibility of any time extension, and Gloria was too big to believe in fairies.
“A lovely place, dear.” Jane expressed the opinion as she entered. “And I’m sure you’ll do very fine work here. Have you written any more stories?”
“Oh, stories, Jane dear,” deprecated Gloria, “those were silly dreams, that I used to write when at home. School work is much more practical. Sit down here near me and let’s talk.” She drew the dear old nurse down beside her on the couch. “Jane, honey, Trixy does all she can for me, but I do so miss you when—I get in trouble,” she snuggled gratefully.
“So that’s it, honey. You’re in trouble. Tell Janie all about it. Is the string of beads in it too?”
“Somewhat,” admitted Gloria. “But first we must tell Trixy all about it. You see, she’s a partner in that little mixup.”
“But your face is all—is it chapped from the wind?” Jane asked. The outburst had left tell-tale marks after all.
“Rough treatment,” laughed Gloria, relinquishing her affectionate hold on Jane long enough to dab a little alleviative powder on the shiniest spots. “Have a chair close by, Trixy,” she offered presently, “and listen to the story of the lost jools. I told you that string of beads was hoodooed. It was.”
Trixy listened, more surprised at each startling statement, and as Gloria related the happenings of the morning, telling of Mrs. Corday’s positive declarations, that gems really had been hidden to frustrate an Arab’s attempt to obtain them, she, herself, felt the tale grew more remarkable with the re-telling.
“A circus!” exclaimed Trixy. “We suspected that from the first, didn’t we, Glo? But how ever did Jack, dear as she is, get in here with circus parents?”