“Your own mother!” exclaimed Mr. Storem. “Your own! Isn’t Mrs. Bountiful your mother?”
“I read it in the Tinytown News. I read about a little girl who ran away,” interrupted Mr. Storem.
“I didn’t,” said Tiny. “I didn’t run away, but nobody believes me.”
“I do, dear,” smiled the big man. “I do!” and Tiny loved him for it.
“Good-by!” she said, “and thank you! Thank you more than I can tell you.”
It was rather late when she reached Rose Cottage, but the little lady had been called out to see a sick neighbor, so she was able to hide her gifts away. Finally Saturday came. Tiny wrapped her gifts in tissue paper and tied them with blue ribbon, and laid them on the breakfast table at Mrs. Bountiful’s place.
The little lady was delighted. She opened the bag and took out the purse and powder box and examined them and looked at herself in the mirror.
“Oh, you made the necklace yourself? Isn’t it lovely, my dear?” she sighed. “You are just such a darling, loving, thoughtful little girl as I always dreamed of for my own daughter.”
“Put on your finery, Mother,” said Martin, handing her the bag and throwing the necklace over her head.
“My present,” exclaimed Martin, “is in my room,” and, excusing himself, he brought a pretty hand-carved tea-table.
“Was there ever such a happy old lady as I!” cried Mrs. Bountiful, putting her arms around both the children.
“Was there ever one who gave other people so much happiness?” asked Tiny.
“I wish I could tell mother about everything,” thought Tiny as she walked along the road to school. “My, what perfectly lovely times I have had, and how dear the little lady is; but I do miss mother. How frightened she must be!”
“I won’t cry, though,” she thought. “Mother surely will find me! I know she’s looking everywhere!”
Just then she noticed a tiny little bird in the branches of the tree overhead.
“Oh, you pretty little thing,” cried Tiny.
The bird flew to a low bush, Tiny following. On and on they went, until Tiny was surprised to find herself at the end of the town.
“Why, I’m almost lost again,” she thought, “I better turn back.”
“Wick--wick!” sang the bird, as he alighted on a tree just outside the town.
To Tiny’s amazement, he was no longer a little bird, but the same big golden-winged woodpecker that she had followed into the forest when she left home. She was just about to run after him when a shadow fell across the roadway and she looked up.
