Honey-Sweet | Page 8

with a dark scrubby beard.
On a sudden impulse, Anne leaned forward and called in her clear little voice: "Here, you man in blue overalls! catch!"
The man started violently, and the macaroons rolled on the deck. He leaned forward and seemed intent on picking up the fragments, but his hand shook so that it was slow work. "Thank you, little lady," he said after awhile, in a gruff voice. "I hope you have good friends."
"Indeed, I have. Have you?"
Perhaps he did not hear her. At all events, he moved quickly away, without raising his head. Then Pat came, calling Anne. He wanted her to hear what a man was telling about the headlands that were beginning to take form on the horizon. Their voyage was almost over. In a few hours, they would reach Liverpool.
The dock was entered at last and with as little delay as possible Mrs. Patterson's party drove to the Roxton Hotel. No one noticed that the carriage was followed closely by a shabby cab. Unseen, its passenger--a man in blue overalls with a soft hat pulled over his eyes--watched the little party enter the hotel. Then he alighted, paid his fare, shouldered his canvas travelling bag, and disappeared down a dingy street.
CHAPTER VI
"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