ROSA LEE
Bab Winters broke from the circle of her friends and darted to her
grandparents as they stepped from the car.
Mrs. Fenwick followed the two old people. She was dressed very quietly
and, as usual, had little to say. She smiled at Bab and asked her to
speak a little louder, although the girl had already raised her voice
to a shout in order to make herself heard above the snorting and
rumbling of the train.
Rosa Lee, seated in state beside Mr. Seymour, descended in regal
manner. Her rugged old face lighted with pleasure as she saw Bab
Winters.
“Ah declares to goodness, you is purtier than ever, honey,” she said
fondly. “Bress yo’ bright eyes!”
“Grandmother!” cried Bab, her arms about the slender old lady. “Wish us
all luck. Maybe my first letter will have real news for you. Who knows!”
Mrs. Winters smiled and gave her a gentle push.
“Hurry, dear. You will miss the train.”
Bab flung her arms about her grandfather, was held in a bear’s embrace
for a moment, then yielded to the insistent pressure of Gordon’s hand
upon her arm.
“I sent Charlie ahead with Gerry and the luggage,” announced the lad.
“Come on, Rosa Lee, right this way. Good-by, Dad!”
Mrs. Fenwick took care of herself. But it was no small task to pilot
Rosa Lee though the crowd on the station platform and see her safely
established on the train. Gordon managed it, however, as Gordon Seymour
seemed to manage most things.
Rosa Lee, disposed of in a seat by herself, her numerous and mysterious
packages ranged about her, Bab turned her attention to the others.
Gerry and Charlie were leaning from the windows, saying good-by to
everybody. The next moment Bab made a great discovery. The train was
moving!
A pang of homesickness swept over Bab and she leaned far out of the car
to catch a last glimpse of the old people she loved.
There they stood, waving to her. Bab’s vision blurred as the train
swung about a curve, blotting both them and the station from view.
“If they were only happy!” thought Bab.
From the seat behind, Gerry’s voice came gleefully to her.
“We’re off, my comrades! The great detectives have struck the trail.”
Laughing, Bab leaned over and touched Rosa Lee on the shoulder.
“Are you glad you are going with us, Rosa Lee?” she asked.
“Glad ain’t no word fo’ it, honey,” Rosa Lee assured her. “Dis ole
woman feels like she could do a dance o’ joy in dis yere car aisle,
yassir, she does.”
“Go ahead, Rosa Lee,” put in Gordon. “Why keep all the joy to yourself?”
The colored woman displayed two rows of white teeth in an indulgent
smile. Gordon Seymour was a great favorite of hers, although he had
always, even as a very little lad, teased her unmercifully.
“Go ’long with you,” she retorted. “What wiv rheumatism an’ ole age
crampin’ up mah joints, Ah ain’t in no condition to go highsteppin’ up
dis yere aisle. No sah! Ah’s gwine remain jus’ where Ah is!”
Gerry chuckled and craned her neck over Bab’s shoulder. Her eyes fell
with alert curiosity upon a bundle that occupied the seat beside Rosa
Lee. She abruptly deserted Charlie and perched on the arm of the old
woman’s seat so as to get a better view.
“What have we here?” she demanded, pointing to a package that seemed
larger and lumpier than the rest.
“Bress yo’ heart, honey, if Ah didn’t suspect you’d ask dat question.
Dis yere package,” with a prideful hand on the paper covering, “done
contain de finest doughnuts dat ebber yo’ bright eyes did see.”
“Doughnuts!” cried Gerry ecstatically. “You old angel! Look out, I’m
going to hug you! What else have you got?”
Having learned the contents of one package, Gerry’s curiosity
concerning the others was not to be denied. It appeared that Rosa
Lee had spent the greater part of her time while awaiting the day of
departure in the practice of her art--for to her the baking of pies and
cakes was nothing less--and was taking with her enough of the fruits of
her labor to last them for several days.
“Ah didn’t have no notion what kind of cook stove there is whar we’re
gwine, honey,” she explained to Bab. “So Ah jest perceeded to make good
use o’ mah time.”
“I’ll say you did,” sighed Gerry contentedly. “Rosa Lee, I see where
you are going to be a great, great comfort to us!”
At the next station a man got on the train and passed through, selling
papers. Gordon bought several and handed them around to the crowd.
Bab looked over the news of the first page casually, then turned the
sheet. She was suddenly startled by her own face, staring back at her
from the printed sheet!
A second glance, however, assured her that this picture was not of her
at all. Nor was the name beneath it hers.
“Barbara Winthrop,” she read. “Why, that was the name of the kidnaped
girl--the one who looked so much like me.”
It was all clear to her now. She read the short column beneath the
picture with increasing interest.
“Wuxtry! Wuxtry!” said Gerry in her ear. “I see you are reading the
latest developments in the kidnaping case, Bab. What do you think about
it?”
Bab shook her head.
“I don’t know what to think,” she confessed. “The girl does look like
me. It’s all pretty mystifying.”
“Five thousand dollars for any one who returns the child to her
family,” went on Gerry. “I wouldn’t mind collecting that myself.”
“As if you had a chance!” Bab spoke absently. Her eyes had returned to
the pictured face in the paper. How like her own it was! Strange----
“Don’t try to make me believe that the kidnaping and your mysterious
inheritance happened at the same time for nothing.” Gerry was speaking
again and in her voice was the dark hint of mysterious things. “There
is something behind all this, Bab Winters. You just watch and see!”
Although Bab branded Gerry’s theory as “all nonsense,” she could
not rid herself of an uncomfortable feeling that it might not be as
nonsensical as it seemed.
It was odd that this girl, the victim of a cruel kidnaping, should so
closely resemble herself, both in name and person. Viewed from one
angle--Gerry’s angle--it certainly did seem more than just coincidence
that the time of the kidnaping and the announcement of Uncle Jeremiah’s
generosity to her should be almost simultaneous.
At this point a thought came into Bab’s mind. It was a strange and
rather terrible thought. It took her breath away.
Was it possible that there might have been some dreadful mistake? Was
she, perhaps, the intended victim of the kidnaper--not Barbara Winthrop?
No sooner had the thought entered her mind than she began to scold
herself for having been foolish enough to entertain it.
“I won’t look for trouble,” she told herself, turning the lucky ring
thoughtfully upon her finger. “Uncle Jerry’s will is mystery enough
for the present. I’ll try not to think of this Barbara Winthrop again,
except to hope that she will soon be returned to her parents. What a
dreadful, dreadful thing to happen to any one!”
“I think we shall be at Clayton soon,” Gordon’s voice broke through her
abstraction. “Better get your things ready.”
Bab turned from her thoughts gladly, relieved at the prospect of
immediate action. She knew, suddenly, that she was almost painfully
excited.
“It won’t be long now before I see my inheritance!” she thought.
She felt in her pocket to make sure that the keys were safe.