"What news for Anne?" wondered Miss Drayton as they drove to their
hotel. Captain Wards had sent a wireless message to the New York chief
of police, asking that Anne's relatives be informed of her whereabouts
and that tidings of them be sent to Miss Drayton at the Roxton Hotel in
Liverpool. Awaiting her, there were two cablegrams. Both were from the
New York chief of police. One was in these words: "No trace Mayo. Will
find and notify child's other relatives." The other cablegram read thus:
"No trace any relatives of child. Letter will follow."
Miss Drayton handed the cablegrams to her sister resting in an easy
chair before the sea-coal fire which chased away the gloom of the foggy
morning.
Mrs. Patterson read the messages thoughtfully. "It is her disappointment
that grieves me," she said, looking at Anne who was sitting in a corner
teaching Honey-Sweet a spelling lesson. "For myself, I should like to
keep her always. A dear little daughter! I've always wanted one."
"Ye-es," said Miss Drayton, doubtfully, "but--we know so little about
this child. Her uncle a felon! Who knows what bad blood is in her
veins?"
"That child?" Mrs. Patterson laughed, glancing toward Anne. "Why, she
carries her letters of credit in her face. Look at that earnest mouth,
those honest eyes. I'd trust them anywhere."
"Oh, well!" Miss Drayton put the subject aside. "Her people will turn up
and claim her. There are lots of them, it seems. She's always talking
about Aunt This and Uncle That and Cousin the Other. Why, Emily! You
ought to have had your tonic a quarter of an hour ago. And a nap."
That evening the subject of Anne's relatives was brought forward at the
dinner table by the child herself. Seeing her eyes rove shyly around the
room, Miss Drayton said, "You look as if you were watching for somebody
or something. What is it, Anne?"
"I was thinking," replied the child, "maybe--there are so many people in
this big room--maybe Uncle Carey is here and can't find me."
The truth--as much of it as was necessary for her to know--might as well
be told now and here. "Anne," said Miss Drayton, "we telegraphed back.
There is no news of your uncle. He--he missed the boat. We don't know
where to send a message to him. Try to be content to stay with us until
some of your home people claim you."
"I don't want to be selfish, Anne dear, but I'm not longing for any one
to claim you," said Mrs. Patterson, with a caressing smile. "I didn't
know how dreadfully I needed a little daughter till you came. I don't
want to give you up. How nice it will be some day to have a big daughter
to take care of me!"
Anne looked up with shining, affectionate eyes. "I'm most big now, you
know, Mrs. Patterson," she said. "I'm eight years old and going on nine.
I love to be your girl, but--" her lip quivered--"I do wish I knew where
Uncle Carey was."
"Suppose, Anne, you write to some of your relatives," suggested Miss
Drayton,--"any whose addresses you know. The Aunt Charity you speak of
so often--where does she live? Is she your mother's sister or your
father's?"
Anne's laughter shook the teardrops from her lashes. "Why, Miss
Drayton," she replied, "I thought you knew. Aunt Charity is black. She
was my nurse. She and Uncle Richard--he's her husband--lived with us
from the time I can remember."
"Oh!" said Miss Drayton. "But cousins? Those people you talk about and
call cousin--Marjorie and Patsy and Dorcas and Dick and Cornelius and
the others--they are real cousins, aren't they? Do you know how near?
First? or second? or third?"
Anne looked perplexed. "There are a lot of cousins. Yes, Miss Drayton,
they're real. I don't know what kin any of them are. I call them
'cousin' because mother did. They lived near home--five or six or ten
miles away. And they'd spend a day or week with us. And we'd go to see
them."
"Oh! Virginia cousins!" Mrs. Patterson laughed. "Some time you and I'll
go to see them and take Honey-Sweet, won't we?--Sarah, Sarah! Let's not
make any more investigations. Wait, like our old friend, Mr. Micawber,
for 'something to turn up.'"
The mails were watched with interest for the promised letter from the
New York police, but day after day passed without bringing it. The
American party lingered at the Liverpool hotel. Mrs. Patterson pleaded
each day that she needed to rest a little longer before making the
journey to Nantes. The doctor, called in to prescribe for her, looked
grave and suggested that she consult a certain famous physician in
Paris.
Miss Drayton was so disturbed about her sister's illness that she paid
little attention to Pat and Anne. The children, left to their own
devices, wandered about the streets in a way that would have been
thought shocking had any one thought about the matter.
Once when Anne was walking with Pat and again when she was driving with
Mrs. Patterson and Miss Drayton, she caught a glimpse of the steerage
passenger who had spoken to her on the dock, and felt that he was
watching her. And then he spoke to her. It was one morning when she had
gone out alone to buy some picture postcards. She stopped to look in a
shop window, and when she turned, there at her elbow stood the man in
blue overalls.
"Wait a minute," he said, in a strained, muffled voice, as she started
to walk on. "Do you want news of your uncle?"
"Of course I do," she answered in surprise.
"I can give you news. Walk this afternoon to the bridge beyond the shop
where you buy lollipops. Tell no one what I say. No one. If you do, some
great harm will come to your uncle. Will you come?--alone?"
"If I can."
"If you do not, you may never hear of your uncle again. Never."
"Who are you? Do you know Uncle Carey? Tell me--"
"Not now. Not here," he said hurriedly, glancing at the people coming
and going on the street. "This afternoon. Will you come?"
"Yes."
"Tell no one. Promise."
"I promise."
He hurried away, and Anne stood quite still, with a strange, bewildering
fear at her heart. Then she turned--picture postcards had lost all their
charm--and went back to the hotel.