Crack! Crack! The sound came from the bushes! She looked quickly around. It must have been a gust of wind that stirred. In another minute there tumbled over her head a shower of leaves and acorns, that for an instant blinded her. But she could hear plainly this time; light feet were running along the bank above the ravine where she sat.

Without pausing a moment she jumped to her feet and ran up the path that led from the bottom of the ravine to the hilltop. Nothing was in sight; but further on through a thicket of trees, she caught the distant sound of flying footsteps. She could see the underbrush move, as though shaken by something in passing.

A shivering sense of mystery possessed the girl. Could it be the ghost?

Without stopping to think Mollie flew in pursuit; determined to discover what had disturbed her. Once she saw a bright object flash ahead of her, brown and scarlet, through the trees. It was gone in an instant. Surely it was but a shadow from the autumn leaves.

For some distance Mollie had been following what seemed to be a pathway through a tangled thicket of bushes and trees. Suddenly she stopped. So far as she could see the path ended abruptly. Yet, at this very moment, she heard a faint hallo!

It was the voice of temptation to Mollie, and she let her curiosity get the better of her. Without in the least knowing where she was going she pushed on. Ducking her head through an opening in one place, turning and twisting wherever she found it possible to make her way, the child came at last into a thick forest. On every side of her stretched endless avenues of trees. Now no sound of flying feet urged her on; no voice called her.

Poor Mollie was entirely alone.

"What an utter goose I am!" she declared out loud. "I don't believe I ever heard anyone, or saw anything. It was just my imagination that led me on. Now, I hope," Mollie gave a rueful smile and sat down to pull the brambles out of her dress, "I hope my imagination will kindly show me the way home again!"

Which way should she go? There were half a dozen different directions open to her. Which was the right one?

"I wonder," thought Mollie, "if, somehow, I have struck the famous 'Lost Man's Trail?' It is a lost girl's trail all right!"

She turned this way, then that. In front of her between the sumach and the holly trees was an open space, which might lead somewhere toward home. Mollie pushed her way through. There were trees, trees, trees! No path was visible between them.

For half a mile Mollie walked on blindly, feeling sure that, at any minute, she would catch a glimpse of their familiar hillside. A sense of sinking warned her that luncheon time had passed. High overhead she could see by the sun that noon had passed.

Several times she called aloud. But Naki had warned her. This hill was entirely deserted. No one ever walked or rode over it.

"I don't wonder," the little girl thought, with a lump in her throat. "No one except myself would be such a goose as to try to find her way about up here, or be silly enough to go on a ghost hunt."

She called again. "Hello! hello! I am lost! Is anyone near?" There was no answer. Once Mollie thought she heard a strange sound, half-wild, half-human, and called more loudly. This time there was no reply.

After several hours of walking, Mollie found her way out of the woods. As she came again to an open hilltop she thought she could see the smoke curling out of the chimney of their little, brown cabin, but far and near, there was no familiar object. She had followed the wrong trail, and was in an entirely different part of the country. There was nothing to do but to return to the woods.

Wearily she walked back. "I am sure the girls must be looking for me," she said, trying to revive her courage. "When I wasn't home in time for lunch Bab would know I was lost."

On and on, Mollie wandered. Finally, toward dusk, she found herself again in the heart of the forest where she had lost her way in the morning. She was so tired, there was nothing to do but to sit down and rest, but she had not given up. Of course, she would find her way out of this labyrinth of trees somehow. However, just for the time, she must wait.

Mollie sank down on a pile of leaves that had been blown in a heap under the shelter of a great cedar tree. It was growing cold, and the September day was closing. All morning and afternoon the little girl had wandered alone in the woods. How many miles she had traveled she did not know.

The child shivered, as she dropped on the ground. Tired as she was, she had plenty of courage left. Not a tear had been shed in these miles of weary tramping; indeed she had often laughed at her own mistakes, though the laughter had sometimes been close to tears; but Mollie knew that she must not lose her head.

"Suppose, I do have to stay in the woods all night?" she reflected. "It wouldn't kill me. I have wanted to have adventures in a forest; here is my opportunity. I wish, though, I knew how to make a fire; I'm so cold and hungry; but I haven't a sign of a match, so there is no use of thinking about it."

If Mollie could but have kept awake a little longer! No sooner had she dropped on the soft leaves than fatigue overcame her, and she was fast asleep.

Suddenly a figure came out of the underbrush—a strange young figure all brown and scarlet. It moved so softly that scarcely a leaf trembled. For a minute it paused and gazed down on the sleeping child. The little girl stirred in her sleep. With a bound the wood sprite vanished. It need not have hurried; Mollie was too utterly weary to awaken soon.

What had happened at the log cabin, meantime?

All morning Ruth, Bab and Grace had been practising under the instruction of Naki. Bab was growing into a clever shot, and Ruth was playing her a close second, when the luncheon gong sounded. The girls had given no further thought to Mollie, supposing she had grown tired of her walk, and was at home with Miss Sallie. The latter naturally was not worried, as she thought Mollie was with Naki and the others.

When the girls filed into the living room for their lunch Bab asked carelessly: "Where's Mollie?"

"Where's Mollie?" repeated Miss Sallie. "Hasn't she been shooting with you? Perhaps she is somewhere near. Here is Ceally; I will ask her."

At this moment Ceally entered with a great bowl of vegetable soup that looked most inviting to the hungry girls.

"I haven't seen Miss Mollie all morning," she explained. "Not since she started for a walk up that hill over 'yond'."

Barbara, Grace and Ruth stared at each other with white, frightened faces. They remembered Mollie had gone off for a walk early that morning; but she had promised not to go far up the hill.

"Call Naki, at once," said Miss Stuart hurriedly. "He will probably know where Mollie is."

"No, auntie." Ruth shook her head. "Naki doesn't know. He has been teaching us to shoot all the forenoon."

Bab jumped up from the table. "Please, Miss Sallie," she cried hastily, "may Naki and I go out to look for Mollie? I am afraid she is lost on the hill."

"Sit down, Bab," quietly said Miss Sallie, in the voice the girls recognized as final. "You and the other girls must each eat a plate of this soup. You are not to start out to look for Mollie when you are tired and hungry. Ceally, see that Naki has some food at once, and bring the coffee to me."

Barbara was almost crying. "Oh, Miss Sallie," she pleaded, "I can't eat. Don't make me wait. I must go at once."

"Eat your soup, Barbara," was Miss Sallie's reply.

Poor Bab obediently choked it down, while Ruth and Grace followed her example. Then they each drank a cup of coffee.

It was Miss Sallie who ate nothing. She was more frightened than the girls; for the woods were more terrible to her than to the young people. Then, Mollie was the youngest of the party, and Miss Stuart felt she was less able to look after herself. Besides, Ceally had hinted strange tales of the haunted mountain back of them. At the time, Miss Sallie had refused to listen; it had seemed utter nonsense, that tale of a ghost which haunted a lost Indian trail. Now, the idea came to Miss Stuart, that perhaps the ghost on the mountain was some criminal, a fugitive from justice, who made his home on the deserted hill.

It was Bab who led the way up to the top of the ravine. But there she stopped and waited for Naki and the girls to join her.

Looking for lost people in the woods was an old business with the guide. He did not take the fact of disobedient Mollie's disappearance any too seriously. Once up the hill, he blew on a great horn which he carried. Once, twice, thrice! There was no response. He blew again, then waited. Evidently the young lady was out of earshot.

Then Naki made a mistake. Instead of going into the woods, where Mollie had pursued her will-o'-the-wisp, he turned in the opposite direction. It did not dawn on him that she had been led astray by a forgotten Indian trail.

"You must keep close to me, young ladies," Naki insisted. "None of ye know your way about up here. If we should separate, I should soon be searching for the whole lot of ye, instead of just one."

All afternoon they searched and searched for the lost one, yet all in vain.

If Mollie shed no tears while she was lost, Barbara shed plenty in the effort to find her. Poor Grace and Ruth tried vainly to comfort her.

"If only we hadn't quarreled this morning over that horrid Reginald Latham!" Bab sobbed, running on ahead of the others. "I told Mollie she was foolish to say she hated anyone whom she did not know. Yet I do it all the time myself."

"Oh, do cheer up, Bab," said Grace, choking back her own tears. "You didn't quarrel with Mollie. I never saw two sisters who fussed so little. I know we shall find her soon."

"There's nothing up here can harm your sister, Miss," Naki explained to frightened Bab. "The country around here is perfectly peaceful."

At dusk Naki and his searching party returned alone to the top of the ravine from whence they had started. Looking down, they could see their log cabin, where Miss Sallie and Ceally stood at the open door. There was no sign of Mollie.

"It is harder work than I expected to find the young lady," Naki apologized to Ruth. "I am sorry, but you had better go back to your aunt. I must go down to the farm for help. It will take a number of people to make a thorough search of this place to-night. The underbrush is so thick that it is hard work traveling about."

"Oh, I can't go home without Mollie!" sobbed Bab. "I am not a bit afraid to stay up here alone. Leave me, Ruth, you and Grace. I'll just sit at the top of this ravine and call and call! Then, if Mollie comes anywhere near me, she will hear. You and Grace go and have supper with Miss Sallie. You can bring me something to eat afterwards, if you like." Barbara smiled feebly.

Ruth and Grace both turned on her indignantly. It was a relief to pretend to be offended. "Oh, yes, Bab, we are both delighted to go down and comfortably eat our supper! It is so pleasant to think of your sitting up here alone, like a stone image, and poor little Mollie lost—goodness knows where!"

Ruth kissed Bab for comfort. Then she turned to Grace. "Grace," she asked, "will you be a perfect dear? I know Naki is right; he must get some one to help him search for Mollie, and one of us must go to Aunt Sallie, who is terribly worried. See! she has already seen us, and is waving her hand. But if you will go tell her what has happened, I shall stay up here with Bab, and Ceally can bring us some dinner. You can come back afterwards. By that time Naki will have returned with assistance and we can go on with our search again."

"I hate to leave you," Grace protested, "but I will go."

"Wait for me," Naki cautioned. Both girls nodded. They were too tired to speak.



CHAPTER VIII

END OF THE SEARCH

When Grace and Naki had finally disappeared Bab put her head down on Ruth's shoulder and cried bitterly.

"I am so frightened!" she sobbed. "If only I were lost instead of my little sister! Mother always trusts me to look after Mollie. I ought not to have let her go off alone!"

Ruth wisely allowed Bab to have her cry out, before she said: "Bab, dear, remember father said he relied on us to keep cool heads and strong hearts in any case of emergency. Now let's gather ourselves together. Let's say over and over again: 'We will find Mollie! We will find Mollie!'"

Bab braced up at once and repeated quietly, "Certainly we will find her, Ruth dear."

Both girls were looking toward the woods. It was not yet night, but the dusk was falling quickly. Suddenly, off through the trees, the two girls distinctly saw a light that shone on a level with their eyes. Once, twice, then again, it sparkled through the underbrush.

"What is it?" Bab breathed faintly.

Ruth shook her head. "I don't know," she answered, under her breath.

The light advanced toward them; then it drew back again, never ceasing to sparkle. It seemed to be beckoning to them.

"Oh, Ruth," cried Barbara, "could it be a signal from Mollie?"

"How could it, Barbara, dear?" Ruth replied.

Both girls waited a little longer. The light came again. It seemed almost to call to them. Barbara started to her feet impatiently. "I must go and see what it is," she declared.

"Wait a minute, Bab!" pleaded Ruth. It was second nature with Ruth to be ready for emergencies. Rapidly she tore from a pad in her leather knapsack a sheet of paper and wrote on it: "Bab and I are going into the woods at the left. Follow the trail of the paper I shall drop as we walk."

Like a flash she pulled off her white petticoat, and tied it to a bush near the place where she and Bab had been sitting. The skirt fluttered and swung in the breeze. Beneath it, under a small stone, Ruth placed her note.

"Come on, Bab!" she cried. "Let's be off!"

Barbara bounded ahead; Ruth closely followed, leaving behind her a trail of white paper which she tore into bits as she ran.

The light ahead of the two girls beckoned them deeper and deeper into the forests. They must have followed it for more than a mile. Ruth's paper was giving out. Suddenly the light dipped to the ground and was gone!

At the same moment, Ruth and Barbara heard a sizzling crackling noise. A tongue of flame darted up between two distant trees, and a warm glow like that of a camp fire lit up the shadows of the forest.

Ruth and Bab rushed to the spot. In the center of a small open space some one had lighted a fire. Sitting on a bank of autumn leaves, slowly rubbing her eyes was a girl. A scarlet coat caught Bab's eyes; then a tangle of yellow curls.

"It's my Mollie!" she cried, springing toward her and gathering her in her arms.

"Why, Bab," asked Mollie sleepily, "when did you and Ruth find me? I must have been dreaming. I did not hear you make the fire. How did you happen to light a fire before you awakened me?"

The girls stared at Mollie. "Build a fire?" they queried in amazement. "Surely, Mollie, you made the fire yourself."

Mollie shook her head. "How could I possibly light a fire?" she inquired. "I haven't a match." Then she smiled faintly. "I am not enough of an 'early settler' to know how to make a light by striking two flints together. But please take me home." The little girl was too tired to care about anything beyond the blessed fact that she had been found.

It was Bab and Ruth who were overcome with the mystery of the dancing light that led them through the forest straight to Mollie. And who could have started the fire, that now roared and blazed, lighting the woods with its many tongues of flame. What did it all mean? The mystery of it all gave them long, creepy thrills.

Barbara helped Mollie to her feet. The child was so stiff she could hardly move, but as she arose something red dropped to the ground. Ruth picked it up. "Why, it is Grace's sweater!" she exclaimed. "I am so glad you found it, Mollie, before you went for your walk. What a blessed thing you had it to keep you warm!"

"Grace's sweater! What are you talking about, Ruth? I didn't have it with me. I was nearly frozen. You or Bab must have brought it with you. I found it over my shoulders when I awoke," protested Mollie.

Ruth and Bab said nothing. There was nothing to be said. It was all a puzzle! Where was the clue to the mystery?

The two girls were leading poor, tired Mollie through the thick tangle of shrubs, along which Ruth's bits of torn paper gleamed white and cheerful pointing their pathway home. Even Mollie smiled on seeing them.

"If only I had remembered to play 'Hop-o-my-thumb,' Ruth, dear," Mollie whispered, "I needn't have created all this trouble. Do you think Miss Sallie will ever forgive me?"

"Indeed she will," Ruth assured her. "She will be so happy to see you again, you poor, tired Mollie, she'll forget to scold!"

By this time the girls could hear the noise of voices and the beating of bushes. "Here we are!" Ruth called out cheerfully. "Don't worry. We have found Mollie!"

Naki burst through the opening. Ceally and Grace were with him and two strange men from the farm below them on the hill.

Naki picked up Mollie in his arms as though she had been a baby, and the party trudged on to their little log cabin.

At the top of the fateful ravine they found Miss Sallie. She could bear the suspense of waiting no longer and had climbed up alone.

"Home for sure!" proclaimed Naki briefly, as he deposited Mollie, still wrapped in Grace's red sweater, on the couch before the fire in their cosy living room.



CHAPTER IX

SPIRIT OF THE FOREST

"It is perfectly incredible!" exclaimed Miss Sallie.

She and Bab were discussing Mollie's adventure the next morning at breakfast.

"The more I try to reason out the whole thing, the more in the dark I am," Bab answered.

"Have you talked with Mollie?" Miss Sallie inquired.

Bab nodded, and replied thoughtfully: "The truth of the matter is, Mollie knows less on the subject than the rest of us. All that she can tell is that she was sitting quietly at the bottom of the ravine, when suddenly a shower of leaves fell over her head, and she heard the noise of feet running along the bank above her. Determined to discover what had startled her, Mollie climbed up the ravine and kept on with her pursuit until she was completely lost. She must have wandered around all day. Finally she was so tired she sat down to rest. When she awoke Ruth and I had found her."

"But Grace's sweater! Where did it come from?" asked Miss Sallie weakly.

Ceally who entered the room at this moment, with her arms full of logs for the fire, caught the end of the conversation. She looked about her cautiously. Naki, her husband, was some distance away, cutting down the underbrush which was growing too high near their cabin.

"Miss," whispered Ceally cautiously, "they do say there is a ghost up on that mountain. It must have been a ghost that led Miss Mollie on that lost trail. Once you strike that trail, there ain't no way of finding your way back again, unless you follow some such clue as Miss Ruth's bits of paper."

"Ghosts! Utter nonsense, Ceally!" scolded Miss Sallie. But under her breath she confessed to herself: "If anything in this world could bring me to believe in ghosts it would be this mysterious occurrence."

Ruth flew in at the door.

"Aunt Sallie," she cried, "here is a man on horseback, with a note from Mr. Latham. He wants us to come down and spend the afternoon with him. He says he will send for us in a carriage that can come almost all the way up the hill, so we need only walk a little way. Do let's go! Want to, Bab?" Ruth finished.

Miss Sallie looked dubious. "It is a good deal of a task, child, to go down this hill, except when we mean to stay down," she protested.

"Oh, no, Aunt Sallie!" Ruth begged. "You know Naki goes down the hill every day, on some errand or other. I have been to Lenox twice myself and to Pittsfield once. I won't give you and Bab these letters, unless you promise to accept. One is for Bab, from her mother; the other is for you, from father."

Miss Stuart was reading Mr. Latham's note.

"My sister-in-law is with me," it read. "She joins her entreaties to Reginald's and mine to beg our hillside fairies to come down to the earth and have afternoon tea with us. We are to have no other guests, except a few young people whom I am sure your girls will like to meet. Later on, when you condescend to spend a few weeks in Lenox, it may be a pleasure for you to know them. Certainly it will be a pleasure for them to know you."

"The man is waiting outside for your answer," proclaimed Ruth, dancing first on one foot and then on the other. "Here are pen and paper. Do write and let me take the note out to him."

Miss Stuart allowed herself to be persuaded into accepting Mr. Latham's invitation. Life on the hill was growing a bit dull for Miss Sallie. She dreaded the long trip, but Mr. Latham's place lay between their hill and the town of Lenox.

Mollie came into the room as Ruth ran out to deliver the note of acceptance. "Who is out there?" she inquired languidly. The little girl was not yet rested from her experience of the day before.

"We are invited to the Latham place this afternoon, Molliekins!" Bab explained.

"Are you going, Miss Sallie?" Mollie asked.

Miss Stuart nodded. "Yes, I think so, child," she declared. "It is a dreadfully long journey, but Ruth is determined to go, and I am as wax in her hands."

"Aunt Sallie Stuart, you are no such thing!" Ruth laughed, as she returned to the little group. "I am the most obedient niece in the world. You know you liked Mr. Latham. And he has a marvelous place, with a wonderful fish pond on it. From his veranda he says you can see over into four states, New York, Connecticut, Massachusetts and Vermont!"

"Well, girls, we will start promptly after an early lunch," Miss Stuart remarked.

"Miss Sallie," interrupted Mollie gently, "remember I am in the guard house for the next twenty-four hours. I broke all camp regulations by being lost yesterday. So I can't go with the party to Mr. Latham's."

"Nonsense, Mollie!" said Miss Stuart kindly. "I was only joking when I threatened to establish military discipline in my camp. Besides, if you were disobedient, you were well enough punished for it. Don't you wish to come with us?"

Mollie shook her head. "If you don't mind, Miss Sallie, I would rather not," she replied. "I am a little tired and I would rather stay quietly up here. You can count on my promise this time. I won't go more than a yard from the cabin. Naki and Ceally will both be here to look after me."

"I will stay with Mollie," spoke up Bab. "I prefer not to leave her alone."

Mollie protested energetically. "Bab, you must not stay behind with me. If you insist on doing it, I shall go with you, no matter how tired I feel. You know you are the one original lady rescuer of an airship yet on record! I was only the legs of the rescue, as I ran after Naki and Ceally. You were the brains of the whole business. Besides, you know you are simply dying to see Reginald Latham's airship models, as well as their beautiful house and grounds. Make her go, Miss Sallie!" Mollie ended.

"I see no reason, Bab, why you shouldn't accompany us." Miss Sallie declared. "Naki and Ceally will look after Mollie, and an afternoon's rest will be much better for the child than a long, fatiguing excursion."

Mollie walked to the edge of the hill to see Miss Sallie and her charges start off on their excursion to Mr. Latham's. Then she thankfully crept home to the little cabin and stretched herself out on her cot, with the eider down comfort drawn up to her head. The child, who was not so vigorous as Bab, was worn out from her fright and exposure. An hour later she awakened, feeling bright and rested as though she had never been lost in a strange woods.

It was a lovely, bright afternoon. Mollie could hear the leaves rustling outside, as the wind stirred them and they fluttered to the ground. The little girl had read that a swan sings a wonderful song just as he is about to die. She walked out on the porch with an odd fancy in her head. She stopped and listened again to the sound the autumn leaves made, as they swirled from the trees to the earth.

"I believe," Mollie smiled to herself, "that the autumn leaves sing their swan song, too." She pointed to a beautiful, golden maple leaf, that was fluttering in the air. "See, there is a leaf! It is singing its good-bye song to the tree, which has borne it all summer! The little leaf is traveling to an unknown land down under the ground."

Mollie laughed at her own idea. It was difficult for her to keep her eyes turned away from her ravine. She glanced up the hill. Surely she saw a figure moving there. It was a slight young creature, no larger than Mollie herself. Was it a boy or girl? It was impossible to tell, though the figure was drawing toward her.

The little girl watched with fascinated eyes. Down the ravine crept a thin, brown body. Now it looked this way, then that. Hardly touching the earth, it flew from one high rock to the other. Then it dipped into the hollow between the two hills and was gone.

This time Mollie did not stir from her veranda, but through her brain flashed the thought—the ghost at last!

In another moment she saw a black head rise up on a level with her eyes. Mollie gave a gasp of surprise, then was silent. A thin, brown creature moved softly toward her on velvet feet. Mollie hardly breathed. Never in her life had she beheld so odd, so exquisite a figure.

A girl about her own age stood before her. Her hair hung over her shoulders, black and straight. Her cheeks were a deep carmine. Her complexion was too dark to be olive, yet it was neither brown nor red. She was dressed in a thin, soft garment that fitted her closely from her bare neck to her ankles. Around her waist she had knotted a crimson scarf. On her head she wore a fantastic wreath of scarlet autumn leaves.

The newcomer stared at Mollie. Once, like a startled fawn, she turned to flee. But Mollie was too wise to speak or to move. Reassured, the quaint visitor drew nearer.

Mollie smiled at her quietly. "Are you afraid of me?" she asked gently. "Come here, I shall not hurt you."

Suddenly the stranger's dark, sad little face burst into a smile. "I am not afraid," she insisted. "I am never afraid. But is it well with you?" She spoke English, but with a strange guttural note Mollie had never heard before.

"Why should it not be well with me?" asked Mollie in surprise.

"Because," the wood sprite answered, "you were lost yesterday in the hills."

"How did you know?" Mollie demanded.

"How did I know?" The girl lifted her head proudly. "I know all things that take place in the woods," she replied. "The woods are my home."

Mollie looked thoughtful; then she spoke in a firm voice: "You know for other reasons, as well. You know I was lost because you led me away yesterday."

The girl's brown face crimsoned, her eyes flashed. Then she lifted her head proudly. "I led you nowhere!" she declared. "You would follow me. No one can run as I do, or capture me when they hunt."

"Who are you?" Mollie asked her.

"I am nobody," the young girl replied. It seemed to Mollie she spoke sadly. But she dropped down on the steps of the porch and waited until Mollie joined her there.

Mollie put out her own soft, white hand and took the other girl's brown fingers in her own. The hands were slender and long, with hard muscles trained to the work of the woods.

"Well," said Mollie gently, "if I would follow you, perhaps my getting lost was my own fault. But was it quite fair of you to come each morning to our windows, and then fly away again before anyone could see you?" Mollie was only guessing at this; but it was easy to see her guess had struck home.

Her visitor turned a deeper crimson and dropped her eyes.

"I am sure you meant no harm by your morning calls," continued Mollie smilingly. "But, if you didn't lead me away into the woods, there is one thing I feel very sure of; you did show my friends how to find me."

"Hush, hush!" cried the wood nymph, rising to her feet and looking around in terror, her slender body poised for flight. "Promise me," she pleaded, "that you will not tell you have seen me, nor that I ever came here to you." The girl dropped on her knees at Mollie's feet. "I am an Indian girl," she explained. "I live on Lost Man's Mountain, but I know no one, and no one knows me. Only Naki your guide has seen me. But he, too, has Indian blood. He will not betray me. My name is Eunice. I have no other name."

"But you cannot live alone," Mollie protested.

The Indian girl shook her head without answering. "If I tell you," she implored, "will you promise me by the stars never to betray me? Promise, promise, or I shall disappear and you will see me never again."

"Oh," Mollie answered thoughtlessly, "I promise."

A swift change swept over the Indian girl's face. She leaned confidingly toward Mollie, who realized for the first time what her promise meant. She was already dying to tell Bab and the other girls of her afternoon's experience, but she vowed to herself to keep the child's secret.

"I do not live alone," Eunice declared. "I have a grandmother, who is an old, old Indian woman. Our hut is far back in the hills. All day I have watched and waited by your cabin, until the others went away. I wanted to see that all was right with you. I trust you with my secret. Now, I must be far away."

"But won't you come again, Eunice?" begged Mollie. "Why not come and see all of us? We are only other girls like you. My sister and her friends have only gone away for a visit to the Lathams'."

Eunice started and shook her black hair. "Latham! You must not speak the name to me!" she cried fiercely. "My grandmother says it is an evil name, and will work harm to me."

Mollie laughed at her. "The name of Latham is nothing to you, Eunice," she protested. "But won't you let me thank you for leading my sister to me? You must have been the will-o'-the-wisp with the dark lantern. You must have made the fire, and—and—you must even have put Grace's sweater over my shoulders as I lay asleep. You are my ghost!"

The Indian girl drew herself up proudly, but her dark face turned curiously white. "Yes," she muttered, "I took the red cloak away. My grandmother says that I stole it, and Indians of royal blood do not steal. I am no ghost, I am a princess!" Eunice looked at Mollie with haughty grace.

"I did not know I was stealing," she insisted. "I saw the soft, red thing. I did not think. I love the scarlet colors in the world." She touched the crimson leaves in her hair. "When I found that I had stolen I meant to bring the cloak back. Then I saw you asleep in the woods. You looked so cold and white that I put the cloak over your shoulders to keep you warm. Now you have your own again."

"But, Eunice," Mollie inquired, more and more puzzled by the girl's appearance and conversation, "are you a pure-blooded Indian? You do not look like one. Your eyes are as big and brown as my sister Bab's, only a little darker. And your features are so fine and pretty. Then you speak such good English and your name is Eunice. Have you ever been to school?"

Eunice shook her head. "A long time a woman stayed in the tent with my grandmother and me. She taught me to speak and to read books. She comes again each winter with the snows. My teacher is part Indian and part white. My grandmother says that an Indian princess must know, these days, all that the white race knows, and she must have the knowledge of her own people as well. But I go now. You will not tell you have seen me. Then, some day when you are alone, I may return."

"Wait a second, Eunice?" begged Mollie and disappeared inside their cabin. She came out with a lovely red silk scarf in her hand. "Take this, Eunice, it is for you!" she explained.

Eunice shook her head. "An Indian princess does not accept gifts," she demurred.

"Oh," laughed Mollie, throwing her gift over Eunice's brown shoulder, "you are a proud little goose! I am sure it is a small enough gift. I want to thank you for the service you did for me in the woods."

Ceally was stirring about in the kitchen. Like a flash the Indian girl was gone. Mollie sat on the veranda steps rubbing her eyes. Had her visitor been a real girl, or was Mollie bewitched by a brown elf?



CHAPTER X

A KNOCK AT THE DOOR

The moon had come up over the tree-tops before Miss Sallie, with Ruth, Bab and Grace returned from their visit to Mr. Winthrop Latham.

"Well, you certainly have missed it, this time, Miss Mollie!" cried Bab, running into the room where Mollie sat reading. "We have had the most wonderful time, and met the most charming people. I never saw anything so beautiful as the village of Lenox. We had a splendid view of it from the tower in Mr. Latham's house. Lenox is called a village of seventy hills, but I am sure we counted more than seventy."

"I am truly sorry you were not with us, Mollie," declared Miss Sallie, coming into the house with the other two girls. "But you will have plenty of opportunity for seeing what we did later on. It will not be long now, before we shall go down in the town to stay. Did you have a nice, quiet time by yourself?" Mollie felt embarrassed. She had hardly been alone. But the other girls did not give her an opportunity to answer.

"Mollie, we have the finest plan!" Ruth broke in. "We are going to have a coon hunt up on the hill. Mr. Latham says it is just the thing to do on these early autumn nights. All the people we met at his house this afternoon are to come up to supper with us to-morrow evening. Afterwards, we are to start out after Br'er Possum and Br'er Coon. Won't it be a jolly lark?"

"I don't approve of it, Ruth," said Miss Sallie. "I am sure young girls never before took part in such an excursion. I shouldn't allow it, except that Mr. Latham and his sister both assured me it was done by the best people in Lenox. Then the English ambassador's daughters are to join you."

Ruth looked solemnly at Bab and Grace. The girls were secretly amused at Miss Sallie's social ambitions.

"Mollie," Ruth explained, "we did meet two such nice English girls this afternoon—Gwendolin and Dorothy Morton—and an awfully funny, little man, a secretary at the German embassy. They say that ambassadors are as common in Lenox, in the season, as millionaires!"

"Did you like Reginald Latham to-day, Bab?" Mollie inquired, as the two sisters walked into their bedroom together.

"Why, yes," admitted Bab. "I liked him as usual. He is a peaceable kind of man, but rather queer. He is too learned for me. His mother seems terribly vain of him. She does nothing but talk about his inventive skill. I believe she encourages the airship business just to get on the good side of his uncle. Mr. Winthrop Latham is simply crazy on the subject and does not seem to care about anything else. And he must have a tremendous lot of money. But Mrs. Latham, the German sister-in-law, as good as told Aunt Sallie she and her son were dreadfully poor. They had always been obliged to live on the income Mr. Winthrop Latham allowed them, since her husband lost his money. But I shouldn't think she and her son need worry; Reginald assured me that he was his uncle's only heir."

"Bab," Grace asked, joining the two sisters, "why did you spend so much time out in that shed looking at airship models? You know you did not understand them in the least; but our host and his blessed nephew were certainly pleased at your interest. Mrs. Latham showed Aunt Sallie and Ruth and me over the house. They have an art gallery and rooms full of curios, just like a museum. The house is a perfect palace."

"There was an older Mr. Latham once!" Ruth announced, sticking her head in from the door of her bedroom to join in the conversation. "But I don't think he was a credit to the family. They are silent about him. I asked one of the girls we met this afternoon if Mr. Winthrop Latham and his nephew were all of the Latham family. Just as she started to tell me, Reginald Latham came up to us, and she stopped talking in a hurry."

"Miss Ruth Stuart, I believe I was talking," interrupted Grace severely. "Kindly allow me the floor! Mollie is most certainly not interested in the Latham family history. Who is? Nor does she care a fig for Mr. Reginald Latham and his toy balloons. But, Mollie, I was endeavoring to tell you about the wonderful curios they have in their house. The late lamented brother, we were informed, has left behind him one of the most famous collection of Indian relics in the world. If I am obliged to mention the stupid subject of family history, I must say that the Lathams are an old family up in this part of the country. They do not belong to the 'newly rich.' The queer elder brother devoted his life to the study of the history of the Indians in this part of the world, and has written a book about them."

"Grace, have you finished making your speech?" inquired Ruth, with mock politeness. "Poor Mollie must be bored stiff with all this useless information. How did you spend the afternoon, dear? We have talked so much about coon hunts and Indian relics and the Lathams that you have had no chance to answer."

"Oh, I took a nap!" responded Mollie, vaguely, and led the way into supper.

Late that evening, as the girls sat by the fire, they heard a sudden knocking at their cabin door. Miss Sallie, who was in bed, bounded out again. For the first time since their arrival in the woods the camping party was alone. Naki had been obliged to go down the hill on an errand. No one had dreamed of any possible danger in his absence.

The knocking continued. "Open! Open!" cried the voices of two men.

"Who on earth can they be?" Grace asked of the circle of girls. No one answered. Ceally came hurriedly in from the kitchen. Miss Sallie stood at her door.

The knocks were repeated in quick succession.

Ceally had taken the precaution, earlier in the evening, to close and bolt all the doors and windows except one. The shutters of this were open on the outside.

"Sh-sh!" whispered Bab, creeping on tiptoes to the window. Before their front door, she could dimly outline the figures of two men, who were evidently arguing and protesting about something.

"Open! Open!" cried the voices again. "We are friends, and will do you no harm."

"Then go away at once!" Miss Sallie commanded.

There was a muffled sound outside the door. Could it be laughter? Then a voice called more roughly. "How long must we wait?"

Ruth and Bab looked at each other blankly. Miss Stuart had gone back into her own room. "What on earth shall we do? Shall we open the door?" Ruth inquired.

Mollie and Grace both shook their heads.

"Ruth," whispered Barbara resourcefully, "your rifle is behind that door, and Naki's big shotgun is next to it. Of course, we don't know how to shoot either one of the guns very well at present, but, if you will hold your rifle pointed toward the door, I shall try to shoulder this heavy shotgun. Oh, I have a splendid idea!"

"Out with it, child!" ordered Ruth. "I believe the knocking on the door will keep up all night, unless we open it."

"Who's there?" inquired Grace, timidly, before Bab could answer.

"Friends!" responded the men on the outside.

Barbara motioned silence. "Listen to me," she said. "We have no way of knowing if those men on the outside are friends, whatever they may say. Here is my scheme! Remember the story of the women in a town near here, who once defended their fort against an attack by the Indians, when the men were all away at work in the cornfields? The women dressed up in their husbands' clothes and frightened the Indians away. Ruth, let's disguise ourselves as men and then let Ceally open the door."

"Bab, you and Ruth are both crazy!" protested Mollie, half-laughing, and half-frightened.

Bang! Bang! The blows on the door were tremendous. "If you don't let us in, you'll be sorry!" called one of the men.

Bab had already found an old hat of Naki's conveniently near. Ceally, who was giggling nervously, produced a hunting jacket of her husband's, which had seen much service. It was not clean, but Bab slipped into it, determined to see her plan through.

Nor was Barbara the only hero. While she was making her extraordinary costume, Ruth had torn down a squirrel skin, which some previous hunter had tacked on their cabin wall and twisted it around her head so that the tail hung down to one side. Then she slipped on her own leather coat, which she gave a more dilapidated appearance, by wearing it wrong side out.

Both girls got behind chairs to hide their skirts.

"Good gracious, Ruth!" giggled Bab, in spite of her excitement. "You look like Daniel Boone."

During their preparation not a word was heard from Miss Sallie, who was closeted in her own room.

"Ceally, open the door!" cried Ruth, raising her rifle and leveling it in front of her.

Bab put her elbow on the back of her chair to steady her shotgun.

"Girls!" cried Miss Stuart, unexpectedly. "Don't dare to open that door!"

But she spoke too late. Ceally had already drawn the heavy bolt back and the door swung aside.

There rushed into the room two men—or to be strictly truthful, two boys.

They looked first at Mollie and Grace, then at Ruth and Bab. Without a word they dropped into two chairs.

"Oh, oh, oh!" they shouted. "Did you ever see anything in the world so funny? Ralph, look at Ruth!" cried Hugh.

"Ralph Ewing and Hugh Post, where did you come from?" demanded four girls' voices together. "We took you for highwaymen."

Bab set down her shotgun and Ruth her rifle. Both girls began pulling off their masculine disguises.

"Don't take off those terrifying garments, Bab!" cried Ralph Ewing. "You, Ruth, should have your picture taken in that hat."

By this time, Miss Stuart, fully dressed, with her pompadour neatly arranged appeared at the door. Highwaymen or no highwaymen, Miss Sallie had no intention of appearing before strange men without being properly dressed. Now she was mistress of herself and of the situation.

Both Huge Post and Ralph Ewing stopped laughing when they saw Miss Sallie's face. She did not appear overpleased to see her two young friends, whose doings were fully described in the preceding volume. "The Automobile Girls at Newport."

"Where did you come from?" she asked politely, but without enthusiasm. "And why did you knock on our door at this time of the evening, without informing us who you were?"

"Ruth," continued Miss Sallie severely, "what are you and Barbara doing in those clothes? Take them off at once."

"Please, ma'am," responded Bab meekly, but with a twinkle in her eye, "we dressed up as men to frighten the highwaymen."

"You are enough to frighten them, I am sure," retorted Miss Stuart scornfully.

Here, Ralph Ewing spoke in his most charming manner: "Miss Sallie, we do owe you an apology and we make it with all our hearts. We had no intention of playing any pranks when we came up the hill to see you. Several days ago we were informed that 'The Automobile Girls' were camping in the Berkshires. Well, Hugh and I are on our way to Boston to join Mrs. Post, and——"

"Ralph, do let me do my share of the apologizing," interrupted Hugh. "See here, Miss Sallie, this nonsense to-night is all my fault. Ralph was dead against my pounding at the door and refusing to give our names; but I thought it would be fun to stir the girls up. I knew two such valiant girls as Ruth and Barbara would not be really frightened, even if we had been a whole band of outlaws. It was a stupid practical joke and I am ashamed of it."

"But how did you find us, Hugh?" put in Ruth, who was embarrassed by her aunt's lack of cordiality to their old Newport friends.

"Please, Aunt Sallie, say you'll forgive us!" Hugh pleaded. "See how many miles we have traveled to see you. We would have been here in the broad daylight, only one of the tires in my machine would get a puncture. The man at the garage told us which hill to climb to find you. We met your guide coming down the hill, and he gave us further instructions. So here we are! Aren't you just a little glad to see us?"

"Of course, I am," laughed Aunt Sallie, amiably. "But there is one thing certain: you can't get down our hill again to-night, and we have no place to offer you to sleep."

"Is that what is preying on my hospitable aunt's mind all this time?" cried Ruth, throwing her arms about Miss Sallie. "I thought she wasn't her usual charming self. Of course the boys shan't go down the hill again to-night. I don't know where they will sleep, either; but Bab will bring her fertile brain to bear upon the situation."

"Why, Miss Stuart!" Ralph spoke in relieved tones. "Is this why you are not pleased to see us? We expect to go down the hill a little later. On our way up we stopped at a farm house, and the people promised to take us in for the night. We'll come back early in the morning, since Hugh and I must be off again by afternoon. Mrs. Post is waiting for us in Boston."

"Oh, must you go so soon, boys?" pleaded Ruth. "We are planning the jolliest lark. We are to have a coon hunt up on the hill with some acquaintances we have just made in Lenox. They are to have supper with us, and are to bring up a guide and some coon dogs for our hunt later on. And you simply must stay at the cabin to-night. See, there is a lounge here in the living room, and we have plenty of quilts and steamer rugs. One of you can have the couch and the other can sleep on the floor by the fire."

"May we, Miss Sallie?" Hugh queried.

"As you like, boys," declared Miss Stuart, now completely restored to good humor.

"Then let's stay by all means!" urged Ralph. "What should we expect to sleep on except the floor or the ground? This is the most effete camping party I ever saw," he declared, looking around their cosy little cabin. "You have all the comforts of home, here!"

"Do you think you and Ralph can stay for our coon hunt, Hugh?" asked Bab.

"Oh, for sure, Barbara," Hugh asserted. "I will fix things up with the mater for a day; but we shall have to be off the next day without fail. Now, I have an awful confession to make."

"What is it Hugh?" Ruth demanded.

"Ralph and I are starving!" he answered. "We were so bent on getting up to your hut before it was too late, we didn't have time to get any dinner. Could you, would you, just give us each a hunk of bread to stay our appetites?"

"You poor souls!" cried Ruth. "Come on out in the kitchen with me, Mollie. Let Bab and Grace do the entertaining. We'll fix you some eggs and bacon in no time, the best you ever tasted. Our cook has gone to bed."

"Let's have a feast for everybody," proposed Bab. "May we, Miss Sallie? I am dreadfully hungry again. I haven't had anything to eat for at least two hours and a half."

"Come, turn in then, everybody," Ruth called cheerily. "Here, Bab, you undertake the Welsh rarebit and get out the pickles and crackers. Mollie, get Hugh to help you open these cans of soup. Grace, you and Ralph, set the table and talk to Aunt Sallie, while I fry my precious bacon."

"I never heard of such an extraordinary combination of things to eat. You will ruin your digestions," was Miss Sallie's comment. But she ate just as much as anyone else.

At midnight the girls were at last in bed. Hugh and Ralph, both wrapped in blankets, were in blissful sleep before the camp fire. They had scorned to accept the offer of the couch, wishing to enjoy camp life to the fullest extent. So peace followed good cheer in the hut.



CHAPTER XI

THE COON HUNT

"Ere in the northern gale The summer tresses of the trees are gone, The woods of autumn all around our vale Have put their glory on."

chanted Ralph bowing low to Barbara, as she joined him in the clearing in front of their house before breakfast next morning. "See, mademoiselle, what a fine poem I have thought out for you! Behold in me the poet of the Berkshires!"

Barbara laughed. "You are a second-hand poet, I am afraid, Ralph. I happen to know that those lines were written by William Cullen Bryant. But come into breakfast and stop your poetizing. We have a busy day ahead of us."

Ralph and Barbara found Ruth with a big sheet of paper in her hand and her brow wrinkled into a serious frown.

"We must decide at once what to have to eat at our supper party to-night. Naki is in a hurry to get off to the village, so as to be back in time to help with the preparations. Listen, chilluns, while I read you my menu," commanded Ruth solemnly. "I am going to have a regular, old-fashioned supper party with everything on the table at once. Naki and Ceally can't serve so many people in any other style. Besides, if we have to eat supper at eight and start off on our coon hunt at nine, there won't be time for many courses. So here goes: Roast chicken, 'ole Virginy' ham, sent by Mr. Robert Stuart for just such a special occasion, roast pig and apple sauce, chestnuts, sweet potatoes, jellies, pies, doughnuts——"

"Cease, and give me breakfast ere I perish at the thought of overeating," remonstrated Hugh. While Miss Sallie protested, as she sat down to her breakfast, "My dear Ruth, are you planning to feed an army, or to entertain a few guests at supper?"

"What shall we do to help with the preparations, Miss Sallie?" queried Grace.

"Just keep out of the way as much as possible, child," Miss Stuart answered.

But this suggestion did not agree with Ruth's ideas. "At least, Aunt Sallie," she expostulated, "we may be allowed to decorate the hut as we like."

"Certainly, child. Spend the day bringing the woods into the house, and to-morrow in throwing the trash out again, if you like. Only don't interrupt Ceally and Naki."

At half-past seven everything was ready for supper. As for the coon hunt, no one of "The Automobile Girls" had the faintest conception of what it would be like, and Miss Sallie was as ignorant as the rest of them.

"It is only an excuse for a midnight frolic among the young people," she thought, indulgently. "I presume no mischief will come of it."

A barking of dogs announced the approach of the guests. Four lean hounds, brown and yellow, baying and straining at their leashes, tore up the hill. Already the keen mountain air stirred them. Br'er Possum and Br'er Coon were even now placidly eating their suppers. The dogs longed to be at the night's business.

While the young people feasted inside the cabin, the men who were to conduct the hunt prepared the pine torches to light them on their way.

"You feel sure this is a proper expedition, Mr. Latham?" asked Aunt Sallie nervously. She was standing at the door, waiting to see the party start off. "Hugh," she called at the last minute, "promise me to look after Ruth and Grace. Don't get separated from them, or I shall never forgive you. Ralph, I trust you to take care of Mollie and Bab."

But Reginald Latham was standing near Miss Stuart and overheard her instructions to the two boys.

"Oh, I say, Miss Stuart," he quizzed in the affected fashion that so angered Mollie, "can't you trust me to look after Miss Thurston? I have a score to pay back to her for her rescue of me in my airship."

Mollie put her arm in Ralph's as they walked out the door together. "Don't mind that Latham man," she whispered. "I can't see why Bab likes him. See, they are starting off together."

The great horn blew; the dogs barked violently.

Twenty people, each carrying a pine torch, lit up the shadows of the quiet woods.

"When I count three," said Mr. Latham to the keepers, "you can let the dogs go."

One! two! three! and the hounds were off, their noses pointed along the ground, their tails standing out straight behind them.

"Is coon hunting a cruel sport, Ralph?" Mollie inquired. "If it is, I would rather stay home."

"I don't know; this is my first experience," Ralph replied. "But hurry along, little girl!"

"Hurrah! The dogs have a coon on the run!" shouted some one in front. A poor old coon had been driven from his comfortable hollow tree, and was running for his life over the hard ground, pursued by excited dogs. Close behind followed the hunters with their horns. And, tumbling over one another rushing pell-mell after them, came the crowd of heedless young people. The party separated. Two of the dogs tracked another coon.

"I half hope Mr. Coon will win this race!" panted Barbara, close behind Reginald Latham. "Remember Uncle Remus says, 'Br'er Coon, he was wunner deze here natchul pacers.' Certainly he has me outclassed as a runner. Do wait for me, Mr. Latham!"

Reginald Latham had run ahead of the rest of the party, and was tearing down a steep hill with no light except from his pine torch. The moon had gone behind a cloud.

Barbara, farther up the hill, could see the reflection of a sheet of water. Into it the poor little hunted coon jumped, swimming for dear life to the opposite shore. The dogs hesitated a minute, then went into the water after it. But Reginald Latham was now going so rapidly he could not stop himself.

With a rush he was in the water, just as Bab's warning cry rang out.

"Help me! I am drowning!" he shouted. For the minute he and Barbara were alone. The rest of the party had followed the two dogs, whose baying sounded some distance across through the woods.

Barbara was down the bank, and out in the stream in a second. To her disgust she found the water only up to her waist. They were at the edge of a small pond, but Reginald Latham clutched at Barbara, panic-stricken.

"Why, Mr. Latham," cried Bab in disgust, "you are not drowning. This water is not three feet deep. We have only to walk out."

At this instant, Ralph Ewing and Mollie came rushing down the hill.

"What on earth's the matter, Bab?" asked Mollie.

"Oh, nothing," said Bab loyally, "except that Mr. Coon has led us into a nice mud bath. I expect Mr. Latham and I had better return home. I don't believe I am a first-class hunter. My sympathies are too much on the side of the coon."

"Can I help either of you?" asked Ralph Ewing courteously. But when Bab said "no," he and Mollie were off through the woods again.

"It was good of you, Miss Thurston," Reginald Latham apologized, as he and Bab made their way up the hill again, "to take part of the responsibility for our plunge into the pond on yourself. I am an awful coward about the water. I would take my share of the blame, except that my uncle would be so angry."

"But you are not afraid of your uncle, are you?" Bab inquired impetuously. "You seem grown up to me, and I don't see why you should be afraid. Mr. Latham is awfully nice anyhow."

"Oh, you don't understand, Miss Thurston," declared Reginald Latham peevishly. "Everything in the world depends on my keeping on the good side of my uncle. My mother has talked of nothing else to me since I was a child. You see, uncle has all the money in the family now. He doesn't have to leave me a red cent unless he chooses."

"Well, I would rather be independent than rich," protested Bab. "Oh, I beg your pardon," she said blushing. "I am sure I don't know you well enough to say a thing like that to you. But do let's hurry back to camp."

On their way back they met Gwendolin Morton and the young German secretary, Franz Heller. Gwendolin had sprained her ankle in getting over a log, and had given up her part in the hunt.

By midnight nearly all the coon hunters had returned to the log cabin for repairs before making their way down the hill again. Reginald Latham sat before the fire drying his wet clothes.

"What is the matter with you, Reginald?" asked his uncle, sharply. "We've bagged three coons, Miss Stuart, but I am afraid we have had more disasters than good luck. Now, we must be off home again. Look here, young ladies," said Mr. Latham, turning to Ruth and Mollie, who were saying good-bye to their guests, "is there a wood nymph, who lives anywhere about in these woods? Several times to-night I thought I spied a little figure flying between the trees."

"Nonsense, Mr. Latham," laughed Ruth. "Our woods are not haunted."

But Mollie answered never a word.

"Miss Thurston," called Reginald Latham, as Barbara, who had gone out to change her wet clothes came into the room to say good night to her guests, "may I come up and see you and your friends in the morning?"

Barbara hesitated. She did not object to Reginald Latham as the other girls did; she even thought Ruth, Grace and Mollie were prejudiced against him, but she had an idea that something disagreeable might grow out of a further intimacy.

"I am sorry, Mr. Latham," she exclaimed politely, "but we have planned to do some target practice in the morning? We are going to stay but a short time up here in the woods, and Mr. Stuart, Ruth's father, is anxious that we should learn to shoot."

"But I am a fairly good shot myself," protested Reginald Latham. "Why can't I come up and help with the teaching? May I, Miss Stuart?" he asked, turning to Ruth, who much against her will, was obliged to consent.

"Never again shall I allow you to engage in such an unladylike and cruel sport as a coon hunt!" announced Miss Sallie, when the last guest had gone. The girls agreed with her, as the baying of the hounds and the noise from the hunters' horns at last died away in the distance.



CHAPTER XII

THE WOUNDED BIRD

"Good-bye Ralph!" said Barbara, extending her hand to her old friend.

"Good-bye, Barbara," Ralph answered, politely. "It has been a great pleasure for Hugh and me to see you and the other girls in your forest retreat. I am sorry we must be off so soon."

"But you will come back again, in a week or two won't you?" begged Ruth. "I heard you promise those lovely English girls, Hugh, to take part in the autumn sports at Lenox."

"Oh, we shall be back if possible, Ruth." Hugh assured her. "I think we can promise to give Lenox a taste of our charming society, say near the first week in October."

"Let's be off, Hugh," called Ralph. "Here is that Latham fellow coming up the hill."

Bab laid her hand on Ralph's sleeve. "You are not angry with me for going off with Reginald Latham last night are you? Truth of the matter, Ralph, I don't believe I like Mr. Latham any better than the others do. But I am rather sorry for him; he seems queer and nervous. Why, the other day, even at his own house, all the young people except me ran away from him. I don't think he is very happy. That's why he is always fooling with inventions and things. He's a weak kind of fellow, Ralph, but I don't think he is horrid."

Ralph laughed and his face cleared. "Good for you, Bab. Always looking after the oppressed. But I don't think you need feel sorry for a fellow who has such a lot of money coming his way as Reg Latham."

"He hasn't it yet!" was Bab's wise comment.

As Ralph and Hugh disappeared, Reginald Latham joined the four girls. He wore his shooting clothes, and his dark face was transformed with pleasure. He knew he was not popular with young people and the idea made him unhappy. He had been brought up in a foreign country and was shy and ill at ease. His mother had always kept him in her society. Now, he was delighted with the independence and courage of "The Automobile Girls" and longed to be friends with them.

"I hope I am in time for the shooting," he declared. "My uncle sent me up to apologize for the chapter of accidents that occurred last night in our coon hunt. Gwendolin Morton is laid up with a bad ankle, Franz Heller has influenza, and everyone else is tired out with the long tramp. But you look entirely rested." He turned to Barbara and spoke under his breath. "Forgive me for last night's performance."

"Come, Naki," called Ruth to their guide, "we are ready for our target practice. Mr. Latham is here."

Ruth led the way over the hill. At a little distance from the house Naki set up a pasteboard target, which he nailed to the side of a big cedar tree, at the edge of a slight embankment. Below it was nothing but underbrush. No one was near. It seemed a perfectly safe place for the rifle practice.

Mollie sat on the ground back of the eager sportsmen. Nothing could induce her to handle a gun. "I suppose I am safe, back here," she laughed, "so, I shall sit here and watch this famous shooting match. Only, for goodness' sake, all of you be careful!"

Bab, Ruth and Grace were each to have ten shots at the target, Naki showing them how to load and fire. Reginald Latham would keep the score. The girl who hit the bull's eye the greatest number of times was to be proclaimed champion.

Bab fired first. She hit the second ring from the center of the bull's eye.

"Good for you!" Ruth cried, taking aim. But she missed the target altogether. The shot from her rifle went down the hill.

Mollie thought she saw something stir. "Isn't this a dangerous business?" she asked Reginald Latham.

"There is nothing in these woods to harm, Miss Mollie," he explained. "Most of the birds have already flown away."

For an hour the girls fired at the target. Grace had grown tired and had taken her seat by Mollie, but Ruth and Barbara were both enthusiastic shots. Ruth's score stood two ahead of Bab's, who still had three more shots to fire.

Suddenly Barbara raised her rifle. "No, don't show me, Naki," she protested. "I think I can take aim myself." As Bab fired Mollie rose to her feet with a cry. She had seen something brown and scarlet moving in the underbrush on the hill below them.

Bab's shot had missed the target. But did they hear a low moan like the sound of a wounded dove?

Barbara turned a livid white. "I have hit something!" she called to Ruth. But Ruth was after Mollie, who was scrambling down the hill.

The whole party followed them, Barbara's knees trembling so that she could hardly walk.

There were tears streaming from Mollie's eyes as she looked up at Bab. The child's arms were around a little figure that had fallen in the underbrush, a little figure in brown and scarlet, with a wreath of scarlet autumn leaves in her hair.

"I have been afraid of this," said Naki, pushing the others aside.

"It's my little Indian girl!" Mollie explained. "She couldn't bear to keep away from us, and at first I thought her the ghost of Lost Man's Trail. I have seen her around our hut nearly every day; but I promised not to tell you girls about her. Is she much hurt, Naki?"

The man shook his head. "I can't tell," he said. "Better take her to the house and see."

At this Eunice opened her eyes. Her lips were drawn in a fine line of pain, but she did not flinch.

"I will go home to my own tent," she protested. "I will not enter the abode of my enemies." The little girl struggled out of Mollie's hold and rose to her feet. One arm hung limp and useless at her side.

When Reginald Latham touched her, she shuddered. Tiny drops of blood trickled down to the ground.

"Give me your handkerchief, please?" asked Bab as she went up to Eunice. "It is I who have hurt you," she said, "though I did not mean to do so. Surely you will let me help you a little if I can."

She tore open Eunice's sleeve and tenderly wiped the blood. Naki brought two sticks, and, with his assistance, Bab bound up the wounded arm, so the blood no longer flowed. "Now you must go home to our cabin with us!" she pleaded.

But Eunice broke away from them and started to flee. She trembled and would have fallen had not Mollie caught her.

"See, you can't go home alone, Eunice dear," Mollie remonstrated. "And you must see a doctor. The bullet from the rifle may still be in your arm."

Eunice was obstinate. "Indians do not need doctors," she asserted.

But Naki came and took her in his arms. "We will take you to your own tent," he declared. "She will rest better there," he explained to the girls, "and I know the way over the hills. You may come with me. The Indian squaw, her grandmother, will be hard to manage."

"But how shall we get a doctor up there?" asked Grace.

"I will go down for him later," Naki answered briefly. "You need have no fear. An Indian knows how to treat a wound. They have small use for doctors."

"Is your guide an Indian?" asked Reginald Latham of Ruth.

Ruth shook her head. "He may have some Indian blood," she said. "I didn't know it. But this Indian child, where did she come from? And to think her name is Eunice!"

"Eunice!" cried Reginald Latham in a strange voice. "Impossible. Why Eunice is not an Indian name!"

"But it is what Mollie called her," protested Ruth. "And Mollie seems to know who she is."

Reginald Latham's face had turned white.

Ruth felt her dislike of him slipping away. He seemed very sympathetic. Mollie, Bab and Grace were hurrying along after Naki, over whose broad shoulder hung the little Indian girl. Her black hair swept his sleeve, her broken arm drooped like the wing of a wounded bird.

Once she roused herself to say. "My grandmother will not like these people to come to our tent. We live alone like the beasts in the forest."

But Barbara, Ruth, Grace and Mollie trudged on after Naki. While silently by their side walked Reginald Latham.



CHAPTER XIII

THE WIGWAM

"How much farther must we walk, Naki?" asked Mollie, after an hour's hard tramping. "Surely Eunice and her grandmother must live somewhere near. Eunice could not have traveled such a distance to our hut every day."

"An Indian girl flies like the wind," Naki answered. "But another half hour will find us at the wigwam. The Indian woman lives in her tent. She will have nothing like the white race, neither house, nor friendships. She is the last of a lost race. She and the child live alone on the hill. Sometimes other Indians visit them, those of the race who have studied and become as white men. They have taught the child what she knows. But Mother Eunice, as the grandmother is known, still smokes her pipe by an open fireside."

"Is the old woman also named Eunice?" Ruth inquired curiously. "I do not understand. Eunice is not an Indian name."

Reginald Latham, who was walking next Ruth, panted with the exertion of climbing the hill; his breath came quick and fast. He seemed intent on Naki's answer to Ruth's simple question.

"Eunice is a family name in these parts among a certain tribe of Indians. But you are right; it is not properly speaking an Indian name. Many years ago a little girl named Eunice, the daughter of a white man, was stolen by the Indians. She grew up by their firesides and married an Indian chief. In after years, she would never return to her own people. And so her children and her children's children have from that day borne the name of Eunice. The Mohawk Indians have the white man's blood as well as the red man's in their veins."

Mollie was walking near Eunice, whom Naki still carried in his arms, and then Mollie would lean over every now and then and gently touch the child. Once or twice, during their long walk, she thought the little Indian girl lost consciousness. But never once did Eunice moan or give a cry of pain.

"Over there," said Naki finally, "lies the Indian wigwam." He pointed in front of him, where a solitary hill rose before them, shaded by dense woods.

"But I can't see an opening there," Ruth cried; "neither smoke, nor anything to suggest that people are living on that hill."

Naki smiled wisely. "The Indians have forgotten much of their father's wisdom," he declared. "But not yet have they forgotten how to hide in their own forests."

"Do you think I had better go ahead, Naki?" Bab queried. "Some one ought to tell the grandmother that Eunice is hurt. Since I am responsible for the accident, it is my place to break the news to her. I will run on ahead."

"Not alone, Bab!" protested loyal Ruth. "You are no more responsible for Eunice's injury than the rest of us. It just happened to be your shot that wounded her. It might just as easily have been mine. How could we have dreamed the child was hiding in the underbrush? I shall go ahead with you."

"Better keep with me," enjoined Naki. "You could not find your way to the wigwam. We have followed the 'Lost Man's Trail.' When we get up to the tent, keep a little in the background. The Indian woman is very old. She cannot forgive easily. It is best that I explain to her as well as I can. I will go first, alone, with the child."

Eunice stirred a little on Naki's shoulder. "The little one," she declared feebly. "She of the pale face and the hair like the sun. I wish her to go with me to the tent of my grandmother." And Eunice pointed with her uninjured arm toward Mollie.

Under a canopy formed of the interlaced branches of great hemlock trees stood an Indian wigwam. It looked as much a part of the landscape as the trees themselves. The rains and the sun had bleached it to an ashen gray. Outside the tent hung a bunch of arrows. Against the side leaned a long bow. A fire near by had been hastily covered over. But nowhere about was there a sign of human life.

"Your grandmother has heard the footsteps of strangers approaching," Naki said to Eunice. "Let her know that you are here."

Naki set the little girl down on her feet. Mollie stood by her; but Bab, Ruth, Grace and Reginald Latham were concealed by some thick bushes a few yards away.

Eunice spoke a few words in the Indian tongue. Suddenly the flap of the wigwam opened, revealing an aged Indian woman. She looked older than anyone that the girls had ever seen before. Her brown face was a network of fine wrinkles; but her black eyes blazed with youthful fire. She was tall and straight like the pine trees in her own forest. The old woman wore an ordinary woolen dress. Over her shoulders she had thrown an Indian blanket, striped in orange, black and red. She knew that strangers were near. But her grandchild called her!

At the sight of Eunice the Indian woman gave a curious cry, which she quickly stifled. In a voice that only Mollie, who stood near, could hear she asked: "My little wood pigeon is wounded? I have long feared it."

Mollie marveled that the old Indian squaw spoke English.

Mother Eunice gathered her child in her arms and carried her within the wigwam, laying her on a bed of cedar boughs covered with a heavy blanket. Naki explained that Eunice had been accidentally shot by a rifle. The old woman grunted. Without a word she tore down a bunch of herbs that hung at the side of a wall. Placing them in an iron pot she went out of her tent and stirred her fire into a quick blaze.

All this time the Indian woman had not spoken to Mollie, nor had she appeared to know that anyone else was near.

Mollie had followed Eunice into the wigwam and knelt by her side. The child moved restlessly. Mollie leaned over her and unfastened her dress. Around Eunice's neck was an amulet of gold, each link in the chain carved with curious Indian characters. At the end of the amulet, on a square of beaten gold about an inch in size, was a monogram in English lettering. Mollie had only time to see that the letters, looked like E. L. or E. S. She could not tell which, for the Indian squaw was back in the room, scowling at her.

As the grandmother tore the bandage from the little Indian girl's arm and washed the wound with her healing herbs, Mollie saw that under the clothing, the child's skin was several shades fairer.

At last the Indian woman rose up from her knees. "Let them come," she requested of Naki. "Let those who linger in the bushes outside my wigwam draw near to it. But beware how they cross the threshold of my tent!"

The squaw stood at her own door, waiting to speak to the girls and Reginald Latham, as they drew near. "You have injured my child!" she said bitterly. "Even in times of peace no Indian seems safe before the bullets of the white man."

Bab colored deeply. "I am dreadfully sorry!" she declared. "It was I who hurt your grandchild. Naki has told you what happened. How could we know she was hiding near us? But, now that I have hurt her, you must at least let us do what we can for her. Naki shall go down the hill and send a doctor up here to look at Eunice's arm."

"Ugh!" grunted the squaw. "An Indian has no need of the white man's doctor. I shall tend my child. Begone, all of you!"

Reginald Latham moved back a few paces; but Bab, Grace and Ruth did not stir.

"Naki," Ruth gave her order quietly, "go down the hill at once and see that a doctor comes up to look at this child's arm. An Indian's treatment for a bullet wound may be a good one. I do not know. But I do know I am not willing that this child should not see a doctor. Bab and I would feel responsible all our lives if anything serious resulted from this accident. Go immediately, Naki," Ruth ended. She was her father's daughter. Though she seldom asserted her authority, there were times when she insisted on obedience.

"We want no doctor here," the Indian woman repeated, rocking back and forth. "No good comes to the Indian from his white neighbors. Therefore, have I tried to keep my child away from them."

But Eunice's voice was heard calling inside the tent.

"Let the ladies come in, grandmother. I wish to have a talk with them."

Sullenly the old woman moved aside and let the girls and Reginald Latham enter the wigwam.

"Little brown one," Eunice cried, smiling at Bab, "you would be almost as brown as I am, if you lived always in the woods. Do not be so sorry that you hurt my arm. It was my fault, not yours. I should not have been in hiding. I disobeyed the commands of my grandmother. See, I am better. She will not let a white doctor look at me, perhaps, because my skin is too fair for an Indian."

"Mr. Latham," Bab turned to Reginald, who had not spoken. He was looking curiously at the furnishings of the wigwam, at the Indian squaw and at Eunice. He did not hear Bab.

"Mr. Latham!" Bab called more distinctly, "can't you persuade——"

A curious guttural noise interrupted her. The old Indian woman's eyes were blazing. She had seized a pine stick in her hand and held it over Reginald Latham's head. "Out of my wigwam! Shall your name forever sound in my ears? Am I not safe in my own house? Out with you!"

Reginald Latham had not waited before the old woman's wrath. He was already several yards down the hill.

The girls were thunderstruck. Why had the name of Latham fired this old squaw to such a burst of fury?

"Come on, Ruth," said Grace, finally. "Let us go back home. We shall do no good by staying here. I suppose we can find our way home! The old Indian woman seems dreadfully upset, and our staying can only make matters worse. Naki will bring the doctor and attend to everything. Then he will let you know about Eunice."

"I think we had better go," Mollie agreed. "I know it will be best for Eunice." She kissed the little Indian girl good-bye. "Tell your grandmother," Mollie explained, "that Mr. Latham had nothing to do with the injury to you. She may have thought he was responsible."

"I told you," whispered Eunice in Mollie's ear, "the name of Latham must not be mentioned in my house. When I first learned to read I found it written in an old book that told only the story of the Indian races. My grandmother tore it from my hand and threw it into the fire, and said I must never hear that English name again."

"Oh!" Mollie faltered. "I remember you did say something about this to me, the first time I saw you, but I did not think about it. I do not understand it now. But never mind. Good-bye."

"The Automobile Girls" joined Reginald Latham farther down the hill.

"What a crazy old thing that Indian woman is!" he muttered, laughing nervously. "She was only making a scene. She never heard the name of Latham before in her life."

"I wonder if that is true?" pondered Mollie to herself all the way back to their cabin.



CHAPTER XIV

GIVE WAY TO MISS SALLIE!

"Aunt Sallie," declared Ruth mournfully about two o'clock the next day, "we are in great trouble!"

"My dear child, what is the matter now?" demanded Miss Stuart.

"Well," continued Ruth, "you remember about the little Indian girl whom Bab accidentally shot yesterday? Naki has come back from a visit to her and says she is very ill. He found the doctor there, who says he won't answer for the child's life unless she is taken to a hospital in the village, where he can see her often, and where she can have the proper care. The doctor told Naki we waited too long yesterday to send for him. He had to probe Eunice's arm to get out the bullet. But she will be all right if she is only properly looked after."

"Then," declared Miss Sallie, "the matter is a very simple one. Have Naki see to it. The child must be taken to a hospital in Lenox at once. Everything shall be done for her comfort."

"Indeed, auntie, this is not such a simple matter to attend to as it seems. The Indian grandmother positively refuses to let Eunice be moved. She has kept the child hidden in these hills all her life, until she believes Eunice will be eaten up, or run away with, if once she allows her to go among white people."

"Nonsense!" sniffed Miss Sallie.

"It is all very well for you to say nonsense, Aunt Sallie, but you do not dream how obstinate this old woman is. She declares an Indian does not need treatment from a doctor. In the meantime, poor little Eunice's temperature is going up, and she is delirious from the fever. What shall we do? Poor Bab is feeling perfectly miserable."

"Take me to this obstinate old woman," said Miss Stuart, firmly.

"You?" cried Ruth, in astonishment.

"Certainly!" answered Aunt Sallie. "I said, 'take me.'"

"But, auntie, you will so hate the climb up that trail," Ruth argued. "And the wigwam is dreadful after you get there. Only the little Indian girl is exquisite, like a flower growing in some horrid place. I don't believe you will ever be equal to the trip."

"Ruth," insisted Miss Stuart in stately tones, "since I have thrown in my fortunes as chaperon to 'The Automobile Girls' I have had many strange adventures. Doubtless I shall have many others. Persuading an obstinate woman to do what is best for the child she loves is not an impossible task. It does not matter in the least whether the woman is white or an Indian. Tell Naki to take me to the wigwam at once."

"Aunt Sallie, you are an angel!" cried Ruth, throwing her arms around her aunt. "Now, Bab, don't you worry any more," she called into the next room.

"Aunt Sallie does not know what she promises!" said Barbara, joining Ruth and her aunt.

"Just let's leave her alone, Bab," whispered Ruth. "We will go along with her to see Eunice. I think I am counting on my Aunt Sallie to win."

Miss Stuart paused to draw one deep breath, when she finally reached the Indian woman's wigwam. Then she quietly entered the tent and walked over to Eunice's bedside. Crouched on the floor by the child was the old Indian squaw, who did not even lift her eyes to look at Miss Sallie.

Eunice was lying on her cedar bed, with her cheeks the color of the scarlet leaves that once crowned her black hair.

"How do you do?" asked Miss Stuart politely, bowing to the Indian woman. As Miss Sallie put her soft hand on Eunice's hot head, the child stopped her restless movements for a second. The grandmother looked up.

"Your little girl is very ill!" Miss Stuart continued quietly. "I have come to see that she has proper care. She must be taken to a hospital at once. Naki will see to the arrangements. The doctor says the child must be moved to-day."

The Indian woman shook her head. "The child shall not leave my wigwam!" she declared, obstinately.

"Listen to me!" commanded Miss Stuart, quietly. Ruth and Barbara stood near her, trembling with excitement. "We mean no harm to your little girl. Naki will explain matters to you. But she must be properly looked after. You are too old to attend to her, and your wigwam is not a fit place. You declare your Eunice shall not go away from you even for a little time." Miss Sallie spoke slowly and impressively. "If you do not allow the child to go away, now, for a short time, so that the doctor can make her well for you, she will leave you forever!"

But still the Indian woman muttered: "My child shall not leave my wigwam. Indians have no need for white men's doctors."

"You are alone, aren't you?" inquired Miss Stuart, gently. "Are not you and your grandchild the last of your race? Perhaps, if you had allowed it, the doctors might have kept other members of your family for you."

The Indian woman shivered. Miss Stuart had touched some chord in her memory. She raised her black eyes to Miss Sallie and spoke mournfully. "You are right!" she asserted. "My grandchild and I are the last of a great race. I am very old and I am now afraid. Let your white medicine man make my Eunice well again. But I must follow where the child goes. Down in the village they will steal her from me."

"Why, who would wish to steal her from you?" inquired Miss Stuart.

The old woman mumbled. "An enemy came to my door but yesterday." Then a look of cunning crossed her face. She spoke childishly. "The lady is wise!" she declared. "Who could wish to steal a poor little Indian girl? Who in all this world has a claim on her but her poor old grandmother? Enough has been said. An Indian does not like too much talk. The child and I will go down into the valley to ask the service of the white doctor. Naki is my friend. I will do as he says. An Indian can keep a secret. Naki has long known that my child and I lived on this hilltop, but he has not betrayed us. He has not even told his own wife. An Indian can keep a secret." The old woman rocked back and forth as though well pleased with herself.

"Keep whatever secrets you will!" Miss Sallie replied. "It is enough that you will permit the child to have proper care."

"Girls!" Miss Stuart spoke from the depth of the largest chair in the living room of their log cabin. It was nearly dusk and she was worn out from her long walk to the Indian wigwam. "Girls, I want to ask you something."

"Attention, girls!" cried Bab. "What is it, Miss Sallie?"

"What do you say," continued Miss Stuart, "to our going back to civilization? We have had a beautiful time on our hill. I, for one, shall long remember it. But the days are growing shorter. If we are to enjoy Lenox, and all the delights it offers, don't you think it is about time we were moving there? To tell you the truth, I have already engaged our board at the hotel."

"Well then, Aunt Sallie, we have no choice in the matter, have we?" asked Ruth, ruefully. "I want to enjoy Lenox, too, but I do so hate to leave this heavenly hill."

"I vote for Lenox with Aunt Sallie!" Grace exclaimed.

"Sensible Grace!" Miss Stuart murmured.

"See here, Ruth, dear," protested Grace, "please don't look as if you were offended with me. We have had a simply perfect time in the log cabin, but I am just longing to see the lovely places down in Lenox, and to meet the delightful people."

"Ruth," Barbara spoke sadly, "I, too, want to go down into Lenox now. If Eunice is to be laid up in the hospital I want to be near her, so I can find out how she is each day. I shall never be happy again until I know she is well."

Mollie put her arm round her sister. "Don't you worry so, Bab, dear," she pleaded. "I don't believe your shooting poor little Eunice in the arm is going to do her harm in the end. Poor little thing! It was simply dreadful for her to have to spend all her time with her old Indian grandmother. She never had a chance to see anybody, or to learn anything. She was simply sick for companions of her own age. That is why she was always haunting our cabin. I don't believe Eunice is more than part Indian, anyway!" Mollie ended impressively. "I've a feeling that we shall do her more good, in the end, from this accident than we have done her harm."

"You are a dear!" cried Bab, already comforted by her sister's prophecy.

"You are all against me!" quoth Ruth, rising. "I surrender, as usual, to my beloved aunt. I want to go to Lenox, but—I want to be here on the hill, too. So runs the world. We can't manage to have all the things we want at the same time; so hurrah for Lenox and the gay world again! Come here to the door with me, children. Let us say farewell to our sweet hillside!"

The girls stood arm in arm on their front porch. The evening wind swept up the hill and rustled through the pines. The brook near their house hurried down the slope into the valley as though it were late for a night's engagement.

"Ruth," Barbara declared solemnly, "whatever happens to 'The Automobile Girls,' one thing is certain, nothing can ever be lovelier than the weeks we have spent together on this beautiful hill. Let us kiss all around. Call Aunt Sallie. She must be a party to the agreement. We will never forget our little log cabin—never, no, never, in all our lives."



CHAPTER XV

SOCIETY IN LENOX

"Miss Sallie, is Lenox the oldest summer resort in the United States?" inquired Barbara, as they sat on a private veranda which opened into their own sitting-room, in the most beautiful hotel in Lenox.

"I am sure I don't know, Bab, dear," Miss Sallie answered complacently. "I think modern Lenox has been transformed by the wealth that has come into the place in the last fifty years. I am told that it once had more literary associations than any other town in the country. As Ruth tells me you are ambitious to become a writer some day, this will interest you. You girls must go about, while you are here, and see all the sights."

Barbara blushed and changed the subject. She did not like to talk of her literary ambitions.

"Ruth and Mollie are late in getting back, aren't they?" she asked. "You know they have gone over in the automobile to inquire for Eunice. I hope they will be back in time for tea. Did Ruth remember to tell you that the British Ambassador's daughters, Dorothy and Gwendolin Morton, are coming in to tea? And perhaps Mr. Winthrop Latham and Reginald Latham will be here also."

Miss Sallie nodded. "Yes; I am expecting them," she declared. "It is most kind of them to call on us so promptly. I was afraid we would know no one in Lenox, as I have no acquaintances here. I did not expect you and little Mollie to pull friends down from the sky for us, as you seem to have done by your rescue of Mr. Latham and his nephew. What a strange thing life is!"

"Do you know, Miss Sallie," Barbara continued, "it seems awfully funny for Mollie and me to to be associating with such important people as the daughters of the English Ambassador. I am even impressed with that funny little German Secretary, Franz Heller, just because he is attached to the German Embassy. It makes me feel as though I were a character in a book, to even meet such clever people. Dear me, what a lot you and Ruth have done for us!"

"Barbara, dear," replied Miss Stuart, kindly, "we have not done much more for you than you girls have done for us in a different way. True, through my brother, we happened to have the money to pay for our good times; but poor Ruth and I couldn't have had those good times without the other three 'Automobile Girls.' How is Grace's headache? Will she be able to see our friends this afternoon?"

"Shall I ask her?" Bab suggested, going in to the bedroom through the French window which opened onto their porch.

She came out, shaking her head. "Grace is not well enough to get up yet," she explained. "She says she may be able to join us for a few minutes when our guests arrive; but you are not to worry. Her headache is better."

"Shall we have tea out on our veranda, Barbara?" Miss Sallie asked. "I cannot tear myself away from this view. How exquisite the lake looks down between those mountains. And what is the name of that hill over there? Oh, yes, I know you girls have told me the name of it many times before, but as I cannot remember it, you will probably have to tell it to me repeatedly. Monument Mountain, did you say? Oh, I recall the story now. An Indian girl is supposed to have flung herself off of it on account of some love affair. Curious people the Indians," she continued. "Do you know, Bab, I am much interested in our little Indian girl? She is a very beautiful child, and her race is not usually beautiful. I don't understand the girl looking as she does. I shall go to the hospital with you to see her soon. Now, hurry along, child, and order the tea." Miss Sallie paused for an instant. "And tell the waiter to see that the service is good. English people are so particular about their tea!"

Barbara was back from her errand just in time to see a pony carriage drive up in front of the hotel. She went forward to meet their guests, sighing a little to herself. "I do wish Ruth and Mollie would come. I am sure I shan't know how to talk to these English girls by myself. I hardly spoke to them the night of our famous coon hunt."

Gwendolin and Dorothy Morton came half shyly forward. They were tall, willowy girls, with soft, brown hair and lovely complexions.

"I know why English girls are thought to look like roses," flashed through Bab's mind. "These girls are just like roses bending from long stems." Barbara came forward, speaking in her usual frank fashion. "I am so glad to see you," she declared. "Will you come to our little private balcony? If it is not too cold for you, Miss Stuart wishes to have tea out there."

Gwendolin and Dorothy Morton followed Bab in silence. As English girls do not talk so much as American girls on first acquaintance, Barbara felt compelled to keep up the conversation.

"I am ever so sorry," she went on; "but my friend, Ruth Stuart, and my sister, Mollie, are not yet back from the hospital. They have gone to ask about our little Indian girl."

"Your little Indian girl!" exclaimed Dorothy Morton, surprised into talking. "Why, what do you mean?"

Bab glanced back over her shoulder as the three girls started into the hotel. "There come Ruth and Mollie now!" she exclaimed. "They can tell you about our little Eunice better than lean."

A crimson motor car was speeding up the avenue.

"How well Miss Stuart drives her car!" laughed Gwendolin Morton. "But she will have to be very careful; the road laws are very strict in Lenox. I must tell her that, if she is arrested, she will surely be taken to prison. I don't know how to drive a car. My sister and I are more fond of horses. Do you ride, Miss Thurston?"

Barbara colored. She wondered what these wealthy English girls would think of the kind of riding to which she had been accustomed. An old bareback horse, a Texas pony, once even a mule had been Barbara's steeds. So she answered shyly: "Yes, I do ride a little. But, of course, I don't ride in the beautiful way I know you and your sister do."

"We are very anxious to have you and your friends take part in our autumn sports at Lenox," urged Dorothy Morton.

Barbara and the two English girls were waiting at the hotel door for Ruth and Mollie.

In another moment Ruth jumped from her car, and, followed by Mollie, came hurrying up to her guests.

"I am so sorry not to be here when you arrived," she explained. "We just flew home. I was afraid of being held up every minute. But we were kept waiting so long at the hospital that I knew we were late. Do let's join Aunt Sallie. She will grow impatient."

Miss Stuart came forward from her veranda into their private sitting-room. "I am so glad to see you," she said to the two English girls.

"And we are delighted to be your first guests, Miss Stuart," said Gwendolin, who was the elder of the two girls. "Mr. Heller wishes to come in and pay his respects to you later, and I believe Mr. Winthrop Latham and his nephew are on their way now. We passed them as we drove here."

"Aunt Sallie," Ruth spoke softly a few moments later, when she thought no one was listening, "little Eunice is better. But Naki had to take her to the hospital at Pittsfield. He could not find a place for her here. Fortunately, Pittsfield is only a few miles from Lenox over a simply perfect road, so we shan't mind going back and forth in the car. Naki and Ceally are keeping the poor old Indian grandmother with them. Ceally says she seems subdued and frightened."

Ruth turned rosy red. From the silence in the room she knew her guests were hearing what she said. "I beg your pardon," she explained, turning to Dorothy Morton, who was nearest her. "Please forgive my bad manners. We are so interested in our new protegee that I forget that you know nothing of her."

"But we should like to know, awfully!" Dorothy declared. "Who is this Indian girl? I thought all the Indians had vanished from the Berkshires."

But Mr. Winthrop Latham and his nephew Reginald were at the door.

Behind them was a plump little German, with blond hair parted in the middle, a tiny waxed mustache and near-sighted blue eyes. He was Franz Heller, the Secretary at the German Embassy. He could usually be found somewhere in the neighborhood of Gwendolin Morton.

Reginald Latham came up to Bab and sat down next her.

"Please," he whispered immediately, "do not speak of the little Indian girl before my uncle."

"Why not?" queried Bab, in astonishment.

"I can't explain to you now!" Reginald faltered. His uncle's eyes were fastened on him.

Miss Stuart announcing that tea was waiting on the balcony, the little party adjourned to the veranda and stood talking and admiring the view. It was a wonderful, clear October day, radiant with warm sunshine.

Mr. Winthrop Latham stood near Miss Stuart, assisting her to serve the tea. The young people were talking in a group near them.

"I say, Ruth!" exclaimed Dorothy Morton. "Forgive my calling you Ruth so early in our acquaintance, but if I call you Miss Stuart, your aunt may think I am speaking to her. Do please tell us about the mysterious little Indian girl, who is your protegee. Where did you find her?"

Reginald Latham, who was near Barbara, broke into the conversation.

"Tell Miss Stuart about our fall sports, Dorothy!" he urged.

"Tell me of them afterwards," said Dorothy. "I must hear about this Indian child first."

"Well, the story of our little Indian girl is a long and rather odd one," Ruth asserted. "As she is really Mollie's discovery, not mine, Mollie must tell you about her."

Mollie was embarrassed at suddenly finding herself the center of so many eyes.

Mr. Winthrop Latham had turned around, and was also watching her. He had caught Ruth's last speech.

"Why," confessed Mollie, "the story of our little Indian girl is simple enough, but it is very strange."

The little girl paused. Reginald Latham's eyes were fixed on her in a strange gaze; but she had started to tell her tale and must go on. Mollie looked over at Aunt Sallie, and the latter nodded her approval.

Quietly Mollie told of her wood nymph first leading her astray on the mountain; of Eunice's visit to her, next day, and of Bab's accidental shooting of the child afterwards.

"I don't think our discovery of the little Indian girl was so odd," said Mollie. "What I think is strange is that no one around here ever knew of her before. Just think, Eunice is thirteen or fourteen years old and she has been kept hidden in these hills by her old Indian grandmother all her life. She had never been to a town until she was taken to the hospital by our guide, Naki. Yet she is so pretty and gentle. I love her already." The little girl had a queer feeling as if she were defending Eunice—she did not know why.

A voice broke into the conversation. "You say, my dear"—Mr. Latham spoke sternly—"that you and your friends have found an old Indian woman and a child called Eunice hidden in the woods back of you? The thing is impossible. The old woman and the girl are probably gypsies or tramps. They cannot be Indians. I have reason to know the history of the Indians in this part of the country very well. My eldest brother married an Indian girl. She was the last of her people in this vicinity, and she died about fifteen years ago."

Mollie did not answer. A sudden silence fell upon the little group.

Barbara looked at Reginald. She understood, now, why he was often afraid of his uncle. The older man would not endure contradiction.

"Reginald, we must say good-bye to Miss Stuart," his uncle commanded.

"Don't go just yet, Mr. Latham," pleaded Gwendolin Morton. "You promised to help me explain to Miss Stuart the plan for our day of sports. You see, Miss Stuart, every season at Lenox we have an annual entertainment for the benefit of our hospital fund. This year father is to take charge of the sports, which we try to make just as informal and jolly as possible. One of the reasons for my call was to ask you to let your girls help us out with our amusements. As soon as I told my father we had met some delightful American girls who were camping near here, he suggested that we invite them to join in our sports. We intend to have some really good riding; but the other games are only jokes. Did you ever hear of a dummy race or a thread-and-needle race?"

Miss Stuart shook her head, smilingly, as she said, "Miss Morton, I don't even try to keep up with the ways young people have of entertaining themselves these days; but I am sure, whatever your Lenox sports may be, my 'Automobile Girls' will be happy to take part in them."

"That's awfully jolly of you, Miss Stuart!" declared Dorothy Morton, who was the younger and more informal of the English girls. She turned to Ruth.

"Won't you come in and have a game of archery with us to-morrow afternoon? Father and mother will both be at home. We can tell you all of our plans for next week."

"We'll be happy to come," laughed Ruth, "but none of us know how to use the bow. That is an English game, isn't it? We shall be delighted to look on."

"Oh, archery is all the rage at Lenox," little Mr. Heller explained. "Perhaps you will let me show your friends how to shoot."