Callahan, as
Miss Drayton rose to go.
"No, oh, no, indeed! You shall have the doll, and things for all the
children besides," said Miss Drayton. "Good-morning, Mrs. Callahan.
George, drive down Fairview Avenue. Drive fast. I'll tell you where to
stop."
There was no one named Anne Hartman in that building, the janitor
informed her. A little girl named Anne? Perhaps she meant Anne Lewis,
that lived here with her cousin, Miss Dorcas Read. The top apartment.
She was not at home now, he knew. She came from school about two
o'clock. No, her cousin was not at home either. She was a government
clerk and never came in before five.
Miss Drayton would wait. She wished to see the little girl the very
minute that she came in. The janitor invited the lady into his dingy
office but she shook her head. She would wait, if he pleased, in the
pleasant old garden, of which she caught a glimpse through the open
door.
Up and down, down and up, the gravelled walks she paced, restless and
impatient. Suppose there was some mistake. Suppose this Anne Lewis was
not her little Anne. Surely it was time for the child to come from
school. Only one o'clock? Her watch must be wrong.
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