“Do you suppose your son will be back in time to eat with us?” asked Dorothy, as the girls were spreading out newspapers on the seats, and arranging a sort of place to eat.
“I don’t know,” and the elderly lady looked very thoughtful for a moment. Then she removed her glasses, put them on again and whispered to Dorothy. “My son is always doing queer things—that is they are queer from my view point. Where did he say he was going?”
“He did not say, as I understood. But it seemed as if it was something about getting a message to town,” replied Dorothy.
The lady shook her head. “Now here are the refreshments,” she told the girls. Tavia had procured water in an old earthen pitcher, that she declared was perfectly clean, and that for the use of it she was personally indebted to the brakeman, who turned on the lights. Molly had “raided” a store-room somewhere, and from it had actually gotten out such a splendid piece of white cardboard that with the aid of Edna’s case knife square “dishes” were cut and served nicely for the chicken sandwiches. Then the pickles!
“We call them School Girls’ Delight,” explained Mrs. Armstrong, “although I had no idea I was going to fall in with such a happy crowd of young ladies.”
“We are the ones to be grateful,” declared Dorothy. “But where is Miss Faval!”
“Where is she?” asked more than one girl, jumping up, and glancing about the car.
“She certainly got on the train with us,” declared Edna.
“She should have remained with us,” said Dorothy, showing some anxiety. “That was the rule—always when we traveled this way.”
“And there are so many people about, with nothing to do,” Mrs. Armstrong remarked. “It is not like regular traveling, when everybody and everything is in place. We had better inquire at once.”