The railroad station was three miles away.
"I've got it!" cried Marny, when we touched the sidewalk, elbowing our
way among the crowd of loafers who always swarm about a place of this
kind. (He was as much absorbed in the girl's future, when he heard her
story, as I was.) "Aunt Chloe lives within two blocks of us--let's hunt
her up. She ought to be at home by this time."
The old woman was just entering her street door when she heard Marny's
voice, her basket on her arm, a rabbit-skin tippet about her neck.
"Dat I will, honey," she answered, positively, when the case was laid
before her. "_Dat I will_; 'deed an' double I will."
She stepped into the house, left her basket, joined us again on the
sidewalk, and walked with us back to the Sheriff's office.
"All right," said the Sergeant, when we brought her in. "Yes, I know the
old woman; the gal will be ready for her when she comes, but I guess I'd
better send one of my men along with 'em both far as the depot. Ain't no
use takin' no chances.
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