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.
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