“I guess nobody has them to sell, dearie,” said the little old lady, smiling. “But in about an hour I can get one.”
“Do—do you think she’s just right, Doro?” whispered Tavia, on the sly.
Dorothy did not know. It sounded very peculiar to her. But the little old lady seemed quite in her right mind, and she went back to the Pullman, still clinging to her basket.
That mystery furnished the girls and Ned and Nat with subject matter for an endless discussion. They guessed at its contents as everything from a white rat to a jewel-box, or a root of horseradish that Nat declared he believed she was taking with her from her garden, to transplant on her son’s ranch. “His horses will like it, you know,” said Nat, seriously.
“Yes,” agreed his brother, “on their oysters. Horseradish is very good as a relish with raw oysters.”
“And of course they rake oysters right out of the streams and ponds in Colorado,” sniffed Tavia, with a superior air. “Was anything ever crazier?”
Dorothy went to sit beside Mrs. Petterby again. The old lady was smiling contentedly. “I guess I’ll stay as much as a week with my baby,” she declared to Dorothy. “I hope I won’t be homesick before the week’s up.”
“But it will take you almost a week to get there, and a week to return—and you intend to stay in Colorado only a week?”
“I declare, child! I don’t believe I could stand it longer. I don’t think I could stand furrin’ parts—not at all. Rand’s Falls, Massachusetts, is good enough for me.”
There was a movement in the basket. Dorothy was sure of it. And a sort of crooning noise. Dorothy looked her amazement and curiosity—she could not help it.