Wollaston was keen-witted, and he immediately grasped at the truth of the matter.

“You idiot!” he said.  “What makes you think she was with the stout woman—­just because she was climbing into the train after her?”

“Little girls don’t never go to New York alone with dolls,” vouchsafed Edwin, more idiotically than ever.  “Leastways—­”

“If you don’t stop saying leastways, I’ll punch your head,” said Wollaston.  “Are you sure the child was Maria’s little sister?”

“Looked like her,” said Edwin, shrinking back a little.  “Leastways—­”

“What was she dressed in?” asked Maria, eagerly.

“I didn’t see as she had nothin’ on.”

“You great gump!” said Gladys, shaking him energetically.  “Of course she had something on.”

“She had a big doll.”

“What did she have on?  You answer me this minute!” said Gladys.

“She might have had on a blue dress,” admitted Edwin, with a frantic grasp at his memory, “but she didn’t have nothin’ on her, nohow.  Leastways—­”

“Oh!” sobbed Maria, “she did wear her little blue dress this morning.  She did!  Was her hair light?”

“Yes, it were,” said Edwin, quite positively.  “Leastways—­”

“It was Evelyn,” sobbed Maria.  “Oh, poor little Evelyn, all alone in New York!  She never went but once with Her and me, and she wouldn’t know where to go.  Oh, oh!”

“Where did she go when she went with your step-ma and you?” demanded Gladys, who seemed to have suddenly developed unusual acumen.  Her face was streaming with tears but her voice was keen.

“She went to Her cousin’s, who lives in an apartment in West Forty-ninth Street,” said Maria.

“She’d try to go there again,” said Gladys.  “Did she know the woman’s name?”

“Yes, she did.”

“You bet she did.  She was an awful bright kid,” said Gladys.  “Now, I tell you what, Maria, I shouldn’t a mite wonder if your step-ma had had a telegram from her cousin by this time, that she was to her house.  You’d better jest run home an’ see.”

“She was only her third cousin,” said Maria, “and She hardly ever heard from her.  It was only the other day I heard Her say that she didn’t know but she had left New York.  I don’t think Her cousin liked her very well.”

“What was the cousin’s name?”

“She called her Alice, but her name was Mrs. George B. Edison.”

“That’s jest where the kid has went,” said Gladys.  “You go right home, M’ria.  We’ll go with you, and I’ll bet a cooky you’ll find that your step-ma has had a telegram.”

Maria hesitated a moment; then she started, Wollaston Lee still keeping close hold of her arm.  Gladys was on the other side.

Chapter XIV

When Maria reached home, she pushed open the front door, which was unlocked, and rushed violently in.  Wollaston and Gladys followed her, after a slight hesitation, but remained standing in the vestibule.  When Maria had come in sight of the house, she had perceived the regular motion of a rocking female head past the parlor light, and she knew that it was Ida.  Ida nearly always occupied a rocking-chair, and was fond of the gentle, swaying motion.