This quieted me. I cuddled up to her, wiggled my body by way of apology, and did not say another word till we got home.
I am a great talker, and often keep on when I know I should stop. When Gringo first knew me, he called me “The Wandering Dog” because I had travelled so much, but after a time he called me “The Wandering Dog” because I told so many stories that hinged on each other.
When the car pulled up in our own porte cochère I followed Amarilla as she ran after her dear missie to the library. Such a big fire leaped in the chimney, and before it stood master with George Washington all dressed up in his white velvet dinner clothes, for he was allowed to come to the table and sit in a high chair with toys before him. He got nothing to eat, of course. He had had his bread and butter supper at five.
Well, in addition to George Washington, there stood on the rug a boy about a year older than George, and master’s face as he surveyed him was a study.
He was a kind of a caricature of a petted darling. I understood at once that he was a poor child, masquerading as a rich one. I know the poor smell. Somebody had taken great pains with his toilet. He had on a little plush cap with a gilt tassel, his coat was green with gold buttons, his shoes were a pale blue, his little hands were dirty, but his gloves sticking out from his tiny pocket, were quite clean. That was so like poor people—to have clean gloves and dirty hands. He seemed to have no handkerchief, and was sniffing violently at intervals.
Master was grinning. “Read this, Claudia,” he said, handing a slip of paper to mistress who had sunk into a chair, and was examining the child with wondering eyes.
“Mr. Granton and Lady,” she read aloud, “Dear Friends, raise the boy as your own—he is good blood. His name is Montmorency.”
Mistress looked amazed. “Where did he come from?” she asked.
Master shook his head. “I don’t know. Bessie says when she was bringing our boy in a short time ago, this child came strolling up the avenue toward them, clutching this piece of paper in his hand. Bessie read it, then ran down the avenue as fast as she could, but there was no one there.”