The luxury of a real stolen child had never
before come in aunt Corinne's way.
"Why, Bobaday?" she inquired affectionately.
"Because the, little girl seemed like she was dead till all at once
she opened her eyes, and then her mouth as if she was going to scream
again, and they stopped her mouth up, and covered her in clothes."
"What did the wagon look like?"
"Like a little room. And they slept on the floor. They had tin
things hangin' around the sides, and a stove in one corner with the
pipe stickin' up through the cover. And the cover was so thick you
couldn't see a light through it. You could only see through the
pucker-hole where it comes together over the feed-box."
"And how many folks were there?"
"I don't know. I saw them fussing with the little girl, and I saw
it, and then I didn't stay any longer."
"What was it, Bobaday?"
"I don't know," he solemnly replied.
"Yes, but what did it look like?"
Her nephew stared doubtingly upon her.
"Will you holler if I tell you?"
Aunt Corinne went through an impressive pantomime of deeding and
double-deeding herself not to holler.
"Will you be afraid all the rest of the night?"
No; aunt Corinne intimated that her courage would be revived and
strengthened by knowing the worst about that wagon.
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