In the midst of this confusion Carol, who had made her last trip to the post-office, came rushing up to Nathalie with a letter. “Oh, it’s from Dick!” cried the delighted girl as she tore it open.
“Oh, Helen,” she exclaimed in a moment to that young lady who was down on her knees packing the big box, “it’s the funniest letter. Dick says he’s having the time of his life—the jolliest ever—why, where can he be?” stopping to glance at the envelope.
“Why, he must be in New York, or I wonder—yes,” she nodded in answer to Helen’s inquiry, “he says Mamma is fine—says they have had a glorious three weeks—well, I like that,” she grumbled with rueful face, “it looks as if they had not missed me a bit and—” But the sound of voices at this moment caused both of the girls to go to the tent door, to see Miss Carol hurriedly heading a procession of men and women towards the tent. She was screaming excitedly as she came, “Oh, Nathalie, where are you?”
Nathalie, somewhat alarmed by all this appearance of excitement, cried quickly, “Oh, what is it, Carol? What is it?”
“Oh, Nathalie,” the girl screamed, “the baby’s mother has come!”
“The baby’s mother!” echoed the dazed girl with wide eyes. “Why, what does she mean?” turning to Helen, who at that moment had picked up Miss Camphelia, who had just awakened from a nap on one of the cots.
By this time the party of country folk, breathless and somewhat moist from undue haste, with expectancy and delight beaming from every feature, had arrived in front of the tent. Nathalie gave one glance at the many faces, and then with a sudden cry rushed to the defense of what she had come to consider as her own, and the next minute was seated on the cot holding on to Miss Camphelia with a gripping clutch. She stared defiantly at the intruders as they pushed and jostled one another in their haste to enter the tent.
But a moment later her arms relaxed, as a faded-looking, worried-faced little woman, with eyes as blue as the sea, and hair like corn-silk, gave an inarticulate cry as she caught sight of the baby on the girl’s lap. Dropping on her knees with outstretched arms she cried, “Oh, my baby! My precious baby!”
Well, after that Nathalie could hold out no longer, especially when she saw that the baby’s sweet smile and dimpling cheeks were counterparts of those of the woman who claimed her as her own.
Then it was all explained. The child had been stolen by the gypsy woman who, evidently, after a day or so of tramping from house to house begging for money to reach the Gypsy settlement some distance from the neighboring town, had decided to abandon it. Unfortunately the notice that had been sent to be put up in the post-office had failed to reach its destination, and if it had not been for Dr. McGill, the physician who had been summoned by Edith when Camphelia was ill, the baby would never have been found.