Mrs. Crawford looked up in surprise. “Tom,” she said doubtingly, “what new pranks are you up to now? You’re almost as young as Kristy herself.”
Uncle Tom tried to look very meek, but there was a twinkle in his eye which did not look meek at all.
“Please, sister mine,” he began, “our niece Katherine—otherwise Kate—has just got back from San Francisco, or what is left of it. She went through the earthquake and the fire, lost all her goods and chattels, and found a baby, which she has brought home. She is in the hall waiting to be received.”
Before the last words were spoken Mrs. Crawford had risen and hurried into the hall, where, sure enough, the refugee from San Francisco, a girl about fourteen years old, sat smiling, with a pretty little girl of perhaps two years in her lap.
“Uncle Tom wanted me to make my visit to you to-night,” she said, after she had been warmly welcomed and taken into the sitting-room, “as a present to Kristy, who is as fond of stories as ever, I hear.”
“Indeed she is!” said Mrs. Crawford, “and in this case we shall all be very much interested to hear your adventures. It must have been a fearful experience.”
“It was,” said Kate; “but now that it is over I think that I, at least, have gained more than I lost, because I found this baby—though what I shall do with her I don’t know yet. Of course I have tried my best to find her parents, for, if living, they must be nearly crazy about her.”
“Surely they must,” said Mrs. Crawford; “she is a darling.”
“Well!” interrupted Uncle Tom, looking at his watch, “time is passing; is Kristy to have her story?”
With a smile at his pretended anxiety, Kate began.