"I hope so," replied Jack, "but you know she is very busy, and may not get here. But if she does not"—noting the child's disappointment—"she will surely come to-morrow. She telephoned so last night."
"Did she say anything about the book?" queried the little one.
"That's exactly what I want to talk about," he replied with nice evasion. "I wonder are you well enough to try to remember about that book. Where did you last have it?"
"Out in my chair, with mother. I asked a little boy along the road to hand me some flowers, the book slipped back of me, and, as mother wheeled me along, I could feel that it was all right. When we got home it was gone."
"And you didn't speak with any other persons than this boy?" Jack continued.
"Oh, there were a lot of people out to see the firemen's parade, and lots of them spoke to me."
"But did any one walk along with you to talk with you?"
"Yes," she said with hesitation, trying to recall that day's momentous happenings; "there were two people. They were strangers. I think they had been in an automobile, for the girl was dressed like a motor girl, and the young man wore a long duster."
Jack stopped and made a mental note of this remark. He had evidently expected this intelligence.
"What did they look like—I mean personally?"