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<h3>CHAPTER XIX</h3> <h4>WITH THE ROSSITERS</h4> Not only Allen, but Allen's mother met the young traveler when she stepped from the train in Chicago. Such a bright, attractive mother, with such a nice, mother-y smile. No wonder Allen was a pleasant boy with gentle manners. It must be pretty nice, thought Jeanne, to live with a mother like that. "We're going to take you home with us," said Mrs. Rossiter. "We brought the car so we can take your suitcase right along with us. We'll have lunch at home, with Allen's grandmother. She is very anxious to see you; she used to know your father's people, you know. They were neighbors once, in Philadelphia." "I'll like that," said Jeanne. "After lunch, we'll show you a little bit of Chicago—Lincoln Park, I think—and then we'll give you some dinner and put you on your train. You needn't worry about anything. Our young railroad man, here, has it all fixed up for you." "That's lovely," said Jeanne, gratefully. "Any adventures along the way?" asked Allen, who had carried the suitcase and the work-box, too, all the way to the automobile. "Only one," said Jeanne. "I lost Bayard Taylor. He was a great American traveler, you know. We had him in school—" "Was it a book?" asked Mrs. Rossiter. "Perhaps we can inquire—" "I found him again," laughed Jeanne. "He was my pet snail." "Where is he now?" asked Allen. "In my stocking," confessed Jeanne. "Aunt Agatha had my jacket pockets sewed up so they wouldn't get bulgy. You see, I wanted a kitten or a baby or a puppy or any kind of a pet; but Aunt Agatha doesn't like pets—her own children never had any. But I just had to have something. And Bayard Taylor is it. A snail is a lovely pet. He is so small that nobody notices him. He doesn't need much to eat and he's so easy to carry around." "I hope he doesn't do any traveling while he's in your stocking," laughed Mrs. Rossiter. "He's in his little box," said Jeanne. "At my grandfather's I made a small yard for him under one of the evergreens with toothpicks stuck all around in the clay. He liked that and the little clay house I built." "How do you know he did?" asked Allen. "He couldn't purr or wag his tail." "He stuck up his horns and kept his appetite." The Rossiters' house was homelike. Even the furniture wore a friendly look. An affectionate cat rubbed against Jeanne's stockings and an old brown spaniel trustfully rested his nose upon her knee. Jeanne liked them both, but she loved the big old grandmother, because she had so many pleasant memories of Jeanne's own grandmother. "The finest little lady I ever knew," said she. "An aristocrat to the very tip of her fingers. And your grandfather Duval was another. Ever so far back, their people were Huguenots. Although they lost their estates, and their descendants were never particularly prosperous in business, they were always refined, educated people. Your father met your mother when she was visiting in Philadelphia. It was a case of love at first sight and your mother's hostess, a very sentimental woman she was, my dear, rather helped the matter along. They were married inside of three weeks; and you were born a year later in your grandmother's house in Philadelphia. She died very shortly after that and some business opening took your father to Jackson, Michigan. I believe he and your mother settled there. Her own people had not forgiven her hasty marriage; but I assure you, my dear, your young cousins have no reason to be ashamed of you. Your blood is quite as good as theirs." Her tone implied that it was better. "That's enough past history, granny," said Allen. "I want to show her my stamp collection, my coins, my printing press, and my wireless station on the roof." Jeanne thoroughly enjoyed the noon meal—she hadn't supposed that nice persons could be so jolly and informal at the table. The ride through the park, too, was delightful. "It's lovely," she said, "to have this nice ride. The wind is blowing all the whirligigs out of my head." "I suppose you had lots of rides in the Huntingtons' new car—Allen says they have one." "Not so very many. It was always closed to keep the dust out and Aunt Agatha liked to sit alone on the back seat. Sometimes she took Pearl or Clara. Never more than one at a time. She said it looked common to fill the car up with children. But once in a while, when I had to go to the dentist or have something tried on, I had a chance to ride." "Is there anything you'd especially like to see?" asked Allen. "Yes," said Jeanne, promptly. "I'd like a good look at Lake Michigan." "That's easy," said Allen. "You shall have two looks." But when they reached a point from which Lake Michigan was plainly visible, Jeanne was disappointed. "Are you sure," she asked, "that that's it?" "Why, yes," smiled Mrs. Rossiter. "What's wrong with it?" "I thought," said Jeanne, "that all lakes were blue. This one is brown." "It is brown, today," said Mrs. Rossiter. "Sometimes it has more color; but never that intense blue that you have up north. We once took a lake trip on one of the big steamers and I saw your blue lake then." "Oh, this is a nice lake," said Jeanne, anxious to be polite, "but, of course, I'm more used to my own." The Rossiters liked their visitor and urged her to remain longer; but Jeanne very firmly declined. "I'd love to," she said. "And I would, if I were going away from home. But I'm just counting the minutes. It would be just like Patsy to grow another inch while I'm on the train tonight." "I know just how you feel," assured Mrs. Rossiter. "But perhaps, when you are on your way back, you'll be able to stay longer." "If she doesn't get back by the time she's twenty," laughed Allen, "I'm going after her. Just remember, Jeanne, I want to be on hand when you're ready to decide about that husband. I should hate to have that iceman get ahead of me." "All right," agreed Jeanne, cheerfully. "Just hunt me up about six years from now. If I have time to bother with any husbands at all, I think, maybe, I'd rather have you around than the iceman." "Be sure," said Mrs. Rossiter, at parting, "to let us know when you're starting back this way." "I will," promised Jeanne. "I've had a lovely time. Good-by, everybody, and thank you so much." Jeanne slept soundly that night and Bayard Taylor did no extra traveling, because Allen had made a tiny cage for him from a small wooden box, with bars of very fine wire. At Negaunee, Jeanne succeeded in lugging all her belongings safely, if not comfortably, across the platform, from one train to the other. "Is this the train to Bancroft?" she asked. "It is," said the brakeman, helping her aboard. The last half-hour of the journey seemed a year long. She had had no breakfast and she was sure that Patsy had gotten up earlier than usual that morning just on purpose to grow. Never was train so slow, never had fourteen miles seemed so many. The other passengers looked as if they had settled down and meant to stay where they were for weeks; but Jeanne was much too excited to do any settling. She wanted to get off and push. But at last a beautiful voice (that is, it sounded like a beautiful voice to the impatient little traveler) shouted: "All off for Bancroft." In spite of her weighty belongings, the first passenger off that train was Jeannette Huntington Duval. There was a parcel-room in the station at Bancroft. Jeanne checked her suitcase—Allen had told her how to do that—put her check in her other stocking for safe keeping, and then, burdened only with her work-box, set out to surprise the Duvals. Her father, she was sure, would be willing to go for the suitcase that evening. He'd surely be home by now, even if Dan McGraw had taken him for a long trip. No doubt she had passed his letter on the way. And how those children would come whooping down the dock at sight of her! The sky was blue and all Jeanne's thoughts were happy ones. <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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