Presently he said abruptly, "I've promised my father to wear an
overcoat during the fever hour. I must be off and get it, and a wrap
for you. You won't be frightened, if I leave you alone?"
"No," Elsie said bravely, but her tone belied the word.
"Well, walk up and down quickly, so that you don't get a chill. If you
keep near the seat, your uncle can't miss you if he comes."
"Very well," said Elsie, rising obediently. "Only--only--if you could
get back soon."
"I will," said Tinker, and he bolted for the hotel.
Elsie walked up and down, trying to feel brave, but the odd shapes
which the bushes assumed in the dim light daunted her not a little, and
she strove to drive away the fancy that she saw people lurking among
them. Tinker was gone a bare seven minutes; but to the timid child it
seemed a very long while, and she welcomed his return with a gasp of
relief.
He wore a smart, close-fitting brown racing overcoat, which reached to
his ankles; and for her he brought his fur-lined ulster.
"Here I am," he said cheerfully. "Get into this," and he held out the
ulster.
She put her arms into the sleeves, and he drew it around her and
buttoned it up.
"You are a kind boy," she said, with a little break in her voice.
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