She saw nobody, and easily let herself into the flat. It had been recently aired and dusted. Every piece of furniture stood just as she remembered it.
“Oh, Princey, it’s home!” she whispered. “This is our real, real home! I—I loved ’em all at The Corners; but it wasn’t like this there!”
Prince perhaps agreed, but he was too deeply interested in snuffing at the package of meat scraps she had purchased for his supper to reply.
“Well, well, Prince,” she said, “you shall have it at once.”
Dropping the bag in the private hall, she went into the kitchen and stood on tiptoe to open the door of the closet above the dresser. Securing a plate, she emptied the contents of the paper into it, and set the plate down on the floor.
In spreading out the paper she saw some big-type headlines on the front page:
ROMANCE OF THE GREAT WAR
The Experiences of This Newspaper Man like Those of a Character in a Novel—Lost for Eight Months in the Desert—At the Mercy of Semi-savage Tribes, Man and Wife Escape at Last to Return in Safety and Health.
His Story Told to Beacon Reporter at Quarantine.
Carolyn May read no further. It did not particularly interest a little girl. Besides, she was very tired—too tired to think of her own supper. Had she read on, however, even her simple mind might have been startled by the following paragraphs printed below the heading of this startling story: