"You have entirely convinced me, Mr. Elsdale," I said, honestly and sincerely. "Little Barbara's aid may be invaluable to us."
As I made this remark the child knocked at the door, and as the maid-servant admitted her, Ronald's mother entered the room and said that all was ready. I looked at my watch.
"We have barely time to catch the eleven o'clock train," I said.
"Wot d'yer want of me, sir?" asked Barbara, whose appearance denoted that she had been summoned from household duties, without having had a moment given to her to tidy herself.
"We are going to take you for a trip, Barbara."
"To Paris, Barbara." The child gasped, and almost fell to the ground in her astonishment. "Don't be frightened. A brave little girl like you will be glad to see foreign countries."
Ronald's mother was busy with the little girl, smoothing her hair and arranging her poor clothes. She had a child's mantle, which she put on the girl, and a hat which made her look quite presentable. It was surprising what a few skillful touches achieved in poor little Barbara's appearance.
"Foring countries, sir!" she exclaimed, making no resistance to what was being done. "But I can't go, sir; I can't go! I must wait in London for Molly."
"We are going to try and find Molly, my dear."
Her joy was so profound that she could not utter another word. And when Ronald Elsdale, after embracing his mother fondly, took Barbara's hand and led her to the door, she yielded unresistingly. Away flew the cabs, and landed us at the railway station just in time to catch the eleven o'clock train. It was fortunate that we had only hand baggage with us, or we should have missed it. Within a few moments of our seating ourselves in the carriage we were speeding to Dover pier.