Nathalie brought her car to a sudden stop, and called out, “Hello there, boys; hello!”
At the sound of the girl’s call all four swung about and faced her, while a boyish, gruff voice answered: “Hello yourself. What do you want?”
Nathalie laughed happily, for a sudden intuition told her that her search was over. And then she said: “Why, I am looking for some little boys, who were to have come from New York on the White Mountain express. Are you the ones?”
A chorus of trebles piped excitedly, “Yes, mum; we comed off the train,” while the tallest lad, to whom a smaller child of six or seven was nervously clinging, stepped forward. As he lifted his ragged cap he cried politely, “Be you Miss Nathalie Page?” The girl, as she stared down at the questioner, saw a close-cropped head of reddish hair, and a freckled face of an unhealthy pallor, from which two sharp blue eyes were anxiously peering.
“Yes, I’m Miss Nathalie Page,” responded the girl, with a note of relief in her voice, not only glad that she had found the boys, but at the sudden thought that her tormentor would now let her alone, for, with four boys to keep her company, he would not dare to molest her.
“I’m awfully sorry not to have met you at the station,” she went on regretfully, “but something happened to my machine and I was detained on the road. But I did not know that there would be four of you,” she added a little doubtfully. But before she could finish her sentence, the lad who had constituted himself the spokesman for the group, silently handed her a letter.
Nathalie tore it open, and then hastily read it. She was so excited, however, by the many events that had crowded one upon the other that she did not sense its full meaning. Recognizing the signature, “Elizabeth Van Vorst,” she cried hastily, “Well, it’s all right, boys; jump into the car,” as she stuffed the letter into the pocket of her coat. Nathalie immediately saw that a second invitation would not be needed, as the boys made a wild lunge forward, scrambling and pushing each other, as if to see which one would get there first, all but the little chap, who stood whimpering by the side of the car.
“Now, boys, no pushing or pulling,” cried Nathalie with a laugh in her voice, “for there’s plenty of room, and you’re all going home with me. But here, you big one, get out and put that little kid up by me, for the poor tot must be hungry and tired.”
“Sure, he is, Miss,” replied the older lad, who evidently was his brother, jumping down and lifting him up into the seat by Nathalie, despite his kicks and protests that he wanted to sit with Danny.
“Ah, there, kid,” coaxed the bigger boy softly, “don’t be a girl. Show you’re a boy. Sit up there nice-like. Sure the leddy won’t eat yer.” This suggestion of being a girl had a magical effect upon the child, for he immediately ceased to whimper, and settled back in the seat with a repressed sniffle.