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.