Keith was right.  Miss Allison proved the key that unlocked every little red tongue, and they answered her questions glibly.

“We don brought sumpin to Miss ’Genia,” stammered Tildy, shyly.  “M’haley, she got a chicken in dis yere box wot she gwine to give to Miss ’Genia to take away wid her on de kyars.”

“A chicken!” repeated Miss Allison, laughing, “What did M’haley bring Miss Eugenia a chicken for?”

“’Cause Miss ’Genia, she give M’haley her hat wid roses on it ovah to the ole mill picnic, when it fell in de spring an’ got wet, and we brought her a chicken to take away on de kyars fo’ a pet.”

An old bandbox tied with brown twine was promptly hoisted up from the outer darkness into the light of the red dragon lanterns on the porch.  The sides had been pricked with a nail to admit air, and the lid was cut in slits.  Through these slits they could discover a half-grown chicken, cowering sleepily on the bottom of the box.  It was a mottled brown one, with its wing feathers growing awkwardly in the wrong direction.

“Imagine me carrying this into the Waldorf,” laughed Eugenia, when she had expressed her thanks, and Mom Beck had been called to take the children away and give them cake and cream in the background.

“But you’ll have to take it,” said Miss Allison, “at least to the station, for you may be sure they’ll be on hand to see you start, and their feelings would be sadly hurt if you didn’t take it, at any rate out of their sight.”

It was time for the leave-takings to begin.  Joyce and Eugenia put on their hats, and Eliot hurried out with the satchels as the carriage drove up.  At the last moment Mom Beck waylaid them in the hall with two huge bundles.

“I couldn’t do nothin’ else fo’ you chillun,” she said, as she offered them.  “Ole Becky ain’t got much to give but her blessing but I can cook yit, and I done made you a big spice cake apiece, and icened it with icin’ an inch thick.”

The girls thanked her till her black face beamed, but they looked at each other ruefully when they were in the carriage.

“How I am ever to reach New York with a big frosted cake in my arms is more than I know,” said Eugenia.  “I’ll have to cut it up and pass it around on the train.”

“But think of me,” groaned Joyce.  “I have my cake and Bob, too, and nobody to carry my satchel and umbrella.”

The kissing and hand-shaking began, and a cross-fire of good-byes.  “Give my love to your mother, Joyce.”  “Write to me first thing, Eugenia.”  “Good-bye, Betty.”  “Good-bye, Lloyd.”  “Keith and I won’t make our adieux now; we’ll follow you to the station and see you off on the train.”  “Good-bye!  Good-bye, everybody!”

At last the carriage started on, but was brought to a halt by a shrill call from Rob.  They looked back to see him standing on the porch beside the Little Colonel, who was excitedly waving a bunch of flowers which she had been carrying all evening.  The light from the red lantern above her threw a rosy glow over the graceful little figure, the soft light hair, and smiling, upturned face.  That is the picture they carried away with them.