"Well, well!" exclaimed Mrs. Dunbar as they drew in. "Whatever became of you all? If Mally Mack had not met me at the station, and told me you were going for a mountain drive, I should have been a little bit worried."

"We brought you company, Aunt Audrey," Cleo answered, before Jennie had a chance to offer any explanation. "This is Mary Benson, you know. The little girl we met when we first came to Bellaire."

"Oh, yes. How do you do, Mary?" Mrs. Dunbar greeted the now really frightened little girl. "It's so lovely to have you come and visit my little ones. You see, they thought three would be really a crowd, and that they would never grow lonely for home, but I have noticed the tell-tale signs lately. Now, a real visitor will be the very best thing to effect a cure," and she was urging Mary into the house, quite as if her presence were indispensable for the evening's happiness.

The big, soft, dark eyes set so deep in the olive skin, just tinted now with a trace of excitement's color, gazed up into Mrs. Dunbar's face with all the yearning and longing of a lonely, forsaken child.

"Thank you," Mary managed to articulate, but the effort was mingled with a little choking sob.

Jennie drew Mrs. Dunbar into the library while the girls proceeded to the living room.

"Such a time as we have had," she exclaimed, "and I can't say it was all my fault. You see those children were so determined to help that poor friendless child that I just had to go along, or let them go alone, and I was sure you would not want that, Mrs. Dunbar."

"Hush!" putting a finger on her lip and a smile with it. "It is perfectly all right. I have known the children were on the trail of the poor little dear, and I'm just glad they rescued her, to-night especially. I saw three men running for the train I got off, and Mally Mack told me one was a Turk the officers are after! Don't say anything about it, but I know one of these was the man who meets the Indian woman, she who cares for Mary."

"Indian?" repeated Jennie. "Is she that?"

"Likely that—or part negro. I am sure she is from some Central American territory. I have used her type in painting. But come on. Let us give the children a little spread. Phone for some cream, and we will soon have them all happy enough to forget their fright. I know they are just dying to tell me all about it."

No mistake about that. Even the presence of Mary did not appease the children's eagerness to take Mrs. Dunbar into their exciting secret, if a matter known to so large a number can be classified as a secret or even a mystery.

In the rooms above the oak lined hall the girls could now be heard welcoming Mary, with all the natural excitement of her peculiar situation. Grace wanted her to try on her pale green organdie, because it would go so beautifully with her topaz eyes. Madaline insisted her baby blue was much more attractive, as one of Mrs. Dunbar's pictures showed a girl with brown braids gowned in heavenly blue, while Cleo offered her choicest frock, the coral pink with all the dinglely-danglely pink rose-buds dropping around the tunic. But Mary shook her head, and declined all the kindly offered finery.

"You see," she exclaimed, her eyes fairly glaring in unrestricted admiration at the gorgeous display of clothes, "I have to wear white. Reda says if I do not I shall get the fever and die as Loved One did."

"Oh, how perfectly ridiculous!" exclaimed Cleo. Then, fearing Mary would take offense, she hastened to add: "I am sure Reda is simply superstitious. I have known a child who wore white until she was seven, because her mother favored that as a sort of prayer, a consecration, and of course that was all right when its meaning was sincere, but to wear white to ward off a fever looks uncanny, foolish. Can't you put on a color if you choose?" and the beautiful pink dress threw a covetous glow up into Mary's classic face.

"Oh, of course I could," she demurred, "but——"

"But we wouldn't ask you to," and Cleo gave the sign for returning the pretty gowns to their respective closets, by putting the pink voile on its white silk hanger. "White is lovely, and it becomes you beautifully. Don't you think so, girls?"

They did, of course, and when just then Jennie called them to the dining-room for the spread, so delightful on any summer evening, Mary seemed to forget the terrors of that hour, when Professor Benson so barely escaped the trap that had been set for him at the Imlay Studio.



CHAPTER XI

A CRY IN THE NIGHT

It was while Jennie served a dainty sherbet—an extra, considering ice cream and cake were a sufficiently delightful treat—that Cleo slipped out into the library where Mrs. Dunbar was writing letters. Grace and Madaline were outdoing each other in entertaining the guest, and altogether the evening was one of enjoyment, especially for Mary. Her eyes were now almost as bright as those of the girls who surrounded her, and had Reda been able to see her, she surely could not have honestly warned her against "being like other girls." Only that occasional shadow of fear that crossed her face, blotting the life out of her eyes, and glazing them with the ice of terror, did actually mark her as being "different." Even now this fear flitted into her gaze, and with it her slim, brown hands were seen to grasp tightly any object within their reach.

Cleo retold to her aunt that part of the evening's experience which Jennie had begun, but it was concerning the professor and his unprepared retreat to the Sanitarium that she particularly asked advice.

"Do you suppose he will be very anxious about Mary?" asked Cleo. "He does not know us, and when we left him he still seemed dazed from the fright."

"We might call Crow's Nest on the telephone and ask how he is," suggested Mrs. Dunbar. "I think we should do so. Do you want to ask Mary about it?"

Cleo bit her lip in serious consideration. For a little girl she was rather wise, as her aunt had before acknowledged.

"You see, Auntie," she finally said, "we three are trained Girl Scouts. Every day we renew our pledges to help others, and every evening we make a sort of survey of the day to be sure we are not allowing our delightful vacation to monopolize all our interests. We say, you know, that happiness was born a twin, and we know from experience we have lots better times when we share happiness with someone who needs it."

"Wonderful wisdom for such a little girl," replied the aunt with an embracing smile, absolutely devoid of ridicule, but plainly illumined with appreciation. "I know about your wonderful scout activities, and I have not so soon forgotten how you won your bronze cross——"

"Oh, I don't mean to attach any glory to myself," Cleo interrupted, somewhat embarrassed at the turn in the conversation.

"I understand, dear. You just want to be perfectly sure you are doing all you can for the case of Mary, as that has come your way in scouting?"

"Yes, that is our vacation case, we are sure, so of course I just had to insist on Jennie coming with us to-night. I am afraid she was awfully frightened."

"She was, but maybe you can convert her to your ranks. At any rate she was astonished at the way you carried things through. Now, about Mary. Shall we speak to her about phoning the Sanitarium?"

"I guess we had better not mention it to her until we find out if he is all right. If he were very ill do you think we need tell her to-night?" Cleo asked.

"You are right, Tody," the aunt replied, using the pet name given Cleo by her mother on special occasions. "Just go out with the others and shut the door while I phone."

There was no possibility of Mrs. Dunbar's voice being heard over the din of merry-making in the dining-room, for just then Grace was making a speech, and Madaline was applauding, while Cleo quickly fell in with the fun, by parading around the room with a table candle in each hand, and an upturned fruit basket on her head.

Mary sat back on the window seat, spellbound. Being a real girl in spite of her peculiarities, she would occasionally burst into the most musical ripple of laughter, then suddenly check herself, as if fearful of violating some obligation to be sad or melancholy.

Presently Mrs. Dunbar appeared at the door to suggest bed time, and when she gave no message to Mary from her telephone call Cleo surmised the news was not what they had hoped for. Passing by her aunt in the hall, Mrs. Dunbar whispered, "Sleeping," and Cleo knew Mary might take alarm at that report, for the dread fever she so often mentioned was always termed the "sleeping fever." But it was bed time and in the delicious process of undressing and donning gowns or pajamas the girls enjoyed the usual pranks that are ever unusual, and seem different every time they are indulged in. There were pillow fights, parades, sponge splashes, ghost dances, and other stunts "too numerous to mention," but it must be recorded that it required the combined persuasion of Jennie, with her two funny pig tails hanging over her voluminous night dress, and Mrs. Dunbar in the most fragile of negligees to induce the girls to turn out lights, and finally get settled for the night.

It had been possible to decide with whom Mary should sleep. Each bed would have held her in addition to its usual occupant, but on drawing straws the lot fell to Madaline, who had coveted it from the first, as her bed was really of double size.

"Mine is the only big, full grown straw!" declared Madaline proudly, waving the whisk that had been plucked from Jennie's broom, "and now, ladies, we bid you a fond farewell. Come on, Mary."

The exit was quite dramatic in character, for Madaline accidentally tripped over a fur rug, and was spilled rather rudely all over the hall floor, but a little thing like that had no effect on the delighted Madaline, who rather expected Mary would unfold her confidence once in the quiet of their own room.

"I hope dear Grandie is all right," Mary sort of sighed as they each took to their own side of the big roomy bed. "I have never been away from him before."

"Oh, he will have the very best of attention at that retreat," Madaline declared, although she knew absolutely nothing of the place. "Has he money with him?" she ventured.

"Oh, yes. He always has his check book and his deposits are all in a good New York bank," returned Mary without offense, realizing the question was plainly one made out of simple kindness.

She had donned the white night dress, the girls reasoned she would prefer it to the colored crepe pajamas, and Madaline, watching her shake out all the glory usually bound in those two heavy braids of chestnut hair, was lost in admiration.

"However did your hair grow so beautifully long and thick?" she inquired, lifting the cloak of many tresses in both her hands.

"Loved One had wonderful hair," replied Mary, "and I guess hot countries are supposed to be best for the growth also," she added. Then, as if unhappy thoughts would torment her, she sighed a little.

"Are you lonely?" Madaline asked gently.

"Oh no," brightening up with a correct sense of politeness. "I was just thinking how Reda blames my hair for what she thinks is a symptom of the fever. You know her people have such tight kinky hair, they cannot understand ours. Those who do grow longer hair are of a different race, and they have that very straight, stiff Indian kind. But daddy told Grandie mine should never be cut, so Reda didn't dare to cut it, as she has often wanted to. Madaline," Mary suddenly exclaimed, a certain timid appeal in her voice, "did you notice the little basket I brought with me?"

"Oh yes, where did you put it?" eagerly inquired the girl on the other side of the bed.

"I put it out on a little porch I saw back of the dining-room. Do you think it will be all right?"

"Oh, yes, but why did you set it outside?"

"It's better in the air," replied Mary, and Madaline had not the courage to ask if "it" were alive, and why it should need air. Instead she hurried her preparation, and both were soon ready, so the light was snapped out. Madaline thrilled as she recalled what happened when she touched the button of another light a few hours earlier.

In less than an hour every tousled head was buried deep in its fragrant pillow, and even we are not permitted to "tap the tank of dreams." Surely a girl scout and her visitor may dream her own dreams; why should outsiders pry into their secrets?

Mrs. Dunbar, however, had not retired as early as did her young guests. In fact she phoned again to the Sanitarium to find out, if possible, how Professor Benson seemed, then whether his sleep was natural, his respiration normal, and to obtain such other information as might indicate the man's condition.

Word came back over the wire that his sleep did not seem natural, although he showed no fever, but he called constantly for protection, as if in fear of someone harming him. Mrs. Dunbar gave orders that everything possible be done for his comfort, and she promised to call the next day personally to look after him. As everyone in Bellaire knew Mrs. Guy Dunbar, her wishes were sure to be respected, and no doubt her interest obtained for the sick man all possible "special attention."

A little later even the lights in the study and Mrs. Dunbar's room were extinguished, and the tranquillity of slumber fell softly over the sloped roof of Cragsnook.

It must have been past midnight—no one had at the moment any thought of time—when something aroused the household!

Cleo jumped out of bed and rushed to her aunt's door! Mrs. Dunbar heard her step, and the door was opened when she reached it.

"Oh, what was that?" gasped Cleo.

"I don't know, but it sounded like a cry! Listen!"

A low, moaning wail, almost like wind through the attic chimney, sounded again.

"There! That's someone calling," replied Mrs. Dunbar. She snatched a small revolver from under her pillow, threw on a dressing gown, stuck her feet into her slippers, all at the same moment. Cleo threw around her own shoulders a cape she found over a chair and both were ready now to investigate.

Down the hall pattering feet told of the other girls' alarm.

"Oh, Cleo," begged Grace, "where are you? What is that dreadful noise?"

"Come in," answered Mrs. Dunbar, "and just don't be too alarmed. I am able to fight anything that groans that way. Come along, Cleo. You're not afraid, are you?"

"I would be if I stood still and listened to that," replied the little scout. "Here, girls, get some weapon. These old swords are all right," springing to a chair and bringing down from their hanging place at the hall door two glittering Turkish blades. "You won't have to use them, but it's best to be armed," insisted Cleo. "Where's Mary?"

"Oh, I forgot all about her!" gasped Madaline.

"We must look for her," said Mrs. Dunbar promptly, and leading the way, she, with the revolver, Cleo, Grace and Madaline with swords, and also carrying an East Indian spear each, they made their way down the hall to Madaline's room.

Cleo pushed open the door.

The bed was empty!

"She's gone!" exclaimed Cleo excitedly.

"And the screen is out of the window. Look!" cried Grace.

Beyond the bed the low latticed window was flung wide open, its screen lay where it had fallen, and the pretty draperies were almost torn from their hangings.

"Oh!" gasped Madaline. "Someone has stolen her!"

But Mrs. Dunbar thoughtfully shook her head.



CHAPTER XII

A STARTLING EXPERIENCE

Mary was gone and through the window! That was plain even to the excited girls who, in the night, stood around Mrs. Dunbar, aghast with wonder, and fearful for the safety of the little girl, so lately their companion.

"No one could have dragged her through the window without disturbing us," Mrs. Dunbar said. "One of you girls call Jennie, and I will phone the garage for Michael."

All the fear that at first seemed to paralyze the girls was now dispelled in their anxiety for the safety of Mary.

"Come on!" Grace replied promptly. "I'll run down to Jennie's room and get her to help us!"

"And I'll go with you," declared Madaline without a tremor in her voice.

"I shall have to go to my room to phone, Cleo," said Mrs. Dunbar. "But we haven't searched any yet. She may be somewhere about, although the window has been so pulled apart."

"Better get Michael at once, I should think," Cleo suggested. "I'll stay here till you come back."

"Not afraid alone——"

"Not a bit. This is like one of our real scout experiences. Do hurry, Auntie, I am so afraid those people may have carried Mary off!" she urged.

It took a few minutes to arouse the man in the garage, with the telephone call. Meanwhile, Cleo was cautiously and quietly looking about the room. First, naturally, she looked under the bed, next she threw open the door of the closet, being wise enough to jump to the hall door as she did so, but not so much as a piece of clothing stirred. Other articles of furniture in the room that could possibly serve as a screen were then scrutinized, but they offered no clew.

Finally Cleo stepped to the window ledge, and peered out into the thick trees that surrounded the house. She put her hands to her eyes to shade them from the light—wasn't that something white in the button ball tree?

Neither Mrs. Dunbar nor the girls had come back to the room, and for a moment Cleo hesitated, perched there at the window. Should she turn off the light to be able the better to see into the darkness?

The white object appeared to move a trifle, and it seemed large, even like a girl's form.

Cleo jumped from the window seat and touched the button to shut off the light. At the same moment Grace and Madaline entered the room.

Both screamed as they encountered the darkness.

"Oh, Cleo, where are you?" begged Grace.

"She's gone, too!" wailed Madaline.

"Hush!" whispered Cleo, as soon as she could make herself heard. "There's something white out in the tree!"

"Oh, where is Aunt Audrey?" Madaline pleaded, turning to run.

"Never mind," Grace assured her. "Whatever it is it can't get in here. Let us help Cleo."

Cleo was now standing on the window ledge with her feet inside the room and her head and shoulders out in the darkness. Grace and Madaline got hold of her somehow, for her leaning position out of the high window seemed apt to overbalance her at the slightest move.

"It must be Mary!" Cleo whispered, "and in the tree. How ever can we get her?"

"How did she get there?" Grace asked, meaning the question to answer Cleo's.

"The limbs touch the piazza roof. But listen, girls, she may be asleep, and if we should wake her suddenly she would fall. You go tell Aunt Audrey while I stay and watch. No, Madaline, wait a moment, get me the flash light I laid on the dresser. You can see it from the hall light. Yes, that's it. Let me have it."

"What are you going to do?" Madaline asked under her breath, but with a show of alarm.

"I must see if that is Mary. If it is, she is in danger of falling if asleep; if awake she may jump. There, did you hear that! It was a shot—out by the front gate!"

"Oh!" shuddered Madaline. "Do come in, Cleo, they may shoot you."

"No, they can't see me, and I must go to the edge of the roof," and breathing her scout prayers for safety, Cleo climbed over the sill, and cautiously crept to the edge of the slanting roof.

All this time the figure in the tree remained stationary as a gray shadow, just blanching white as Cleo slowly turned her little flash light upon it.

"It is Mary!" she whispered to Madaline, back at the window. "Quick, get Aunt Audrey and the girls out under the tree! I can reach her! Have them pull out the porch mattresses!"

Almost choked with excitement, Madaline managed to reach Mrs. Dunbar, repeat Cleo's orders, then hurry with her and Grace, who was now dragging Jennie along, down the stairs to the front door.

Mrs. Dunbar held her revolver in her right hand while Jennie unbolted the big heavy door.

"Let me go first!" Mrs. Dunbar ordered. "Jennie, flash the light ahead of us."

As the maid followed this order a small streak of light made a safe path out to the edge of the porch.

"There comes Michael," exclaimed Jennie, venturing out next, and no one could have misunderstood the note of relief in her voice.

Above them Cleo had climbed in the tree as quietly as the green limb, swaying under her light weight, permitted. Her flash light now was in the pocket of her pajamas, and as she mounted a strong branch and pulled herself nearer the tree trunk, she seemed scarcely more than some wild night bird seeking refuge.

She could now see Mary's face, and as it showed no expression of recognition she was confident the girl was sleeping. Crawling nearer with slow, sure moves, holding to small branches from overhead, and then balancing to the strong limb on which she sat and hitched herself along, Cleo paid no heed to the commotion under the tree.

She must first grasp the girl who sat so silently, her one arm wound around the light tree trunk, her head leaning against it in the most matter-of-fact attitude, almost caressing the gray button ball wood, while even in the dark those two dark braids of hair were tragically outlined against the white of her clinging night robe.

One more shift of her body and Cleo had her arm around Mary. With the other she held firmly to the tree.

"Quick!" she called now, realizing the mattresses were placed beneath them. "We may fall!"

As she spoke Mary shuddered, and gasped.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, "Reda, I am here!"

"It is not Reda," Cleo answered in that droning voice she believed necessary to use.

"It is I, Cleo. Be careful. We are safe. Don't move!" for the one bare arm was relinquishing its hold on the tree. "Wait a minute. We can climb down. See, Michael has fetched a ladder."

Somehow realizing her strange predicament, the girl at once became obedient to Cleo's orders. She turned exactly as directed, made her way down the branches to the unobstructed tree trunk, where she backed to the tall, strong ladder, placed securely against the bark by Michael.

Willing hands assisted her as she reached the lower rounds, then Cleo followed, descending so quickly she reached the ground almost as soon as did Mary.

It was a strange sight. All the girls in their pajamas. Grace had secured an extra green jersey sweater. Madaline was garbed in the lavender cape Cleo had discarded when she climbed through the window, while Mary stood like a statue, in her clinging white, with Cleo beside her, looking as if she had stepped out of a comic opera in her blue bird pajamas. But the audience was unresponsive.

Michael, the dignified, was too busy to notice costumes. Jennie had troubles of her own with her quickly arranged attire, and Mrs. Dunbar was far more concerned with the whole situation than to take any notice of its special, striking effect.

"Oh, what was it?" Mary murmured, rubbing her hand across her head as if in pain. "I thought Reda called. She said Grandie wanted me, and I hurried to her!"

"You likely did hear a call," said Mrs. Dunbar, "but it may have been our pet owl. Come, let us all get inside. Isn't it fortunate no one was hurt? Cleo, however did you get out on that tree without shocking Mary from her perch?"

But Cleo had observed she, of ail the group, was alone in a real pajama outfit, and consequently took herself off promptly to more secluded quarters, and was then not at hand to answer for her courage.

It was almost an hour before the excitement had sufficiently abated to permit thoughts of returning to bed, and then it was arranged that all four girls should pile into the room with the twin beds, while Mrs. Dunbar's room was thrown open between, by rolling back the folding doors.

Such chattering, such gabbing and such giggling! Naturally the night's experience was entitled to a thorough review, and it must be said the girls did the subject full justice.

Mary, however, was inclined to be taciturn. Every now and then her eyes would "shoot," as Grace called the queer expression, and when the lights were still on, and this peculiar look could be noticed, her friends made no apology for their good natured remonstrance.

"Here, now, Mary!" Grace would then call. "Don't you dare go off walking trees in your sleep again. This was a wonderful night, but—let's call it a day."

"One night of this kind is a regular week," Cleo added, "and I vote we make this very minute the end of a perfect day."

It really was "a lot of fun" to be all tucked into one room, and Mrs. Dunbar remained down stairs for a considerable time while the youngsters toned themselves down. Cleo made an opportunity to whisper to Madaline and Grace not to speak of the shot they had heard fired, but Mrs. Dunbar and her gardener were just then quietly discussing that phase of the affair.

"Michael, what was that shot, do you know?" she asked. "I did not want to mention it before the girls."

"Nor did I, madam," and the old gardener shifted uneasily. "Yes, I know what it was. They got—poor—Shep."

"You—can't—mean our lovely—Shep has been shot!"

"I wish I didn't, but we may be able to bring him around. He's not dead. They struck his thigh, and I was after him as quick as I heard his first whine. That is why I could not answer the telephone at once."

"Oh, Michael. Do everything possible to save our dog. You know how much we think of him, and we expect Mr. Dunbar home from his trip soon. Do you think we can save him?"

"I'll take him to the vet's first thing comes daylight," replied the man. "I wouldn't want to take a year's wages in exchange for Shep." He snapped these last words with rather a vengeful meaning. "And I'd like to say, madam, if I might," he continued, "it was a blessing those little girls went after that other youngster to-night, from what I heard later. Seems to me sometimes the babies do know more than their elders."

"Yes, Michael," replied Mrs. Dunbar to whom the news that her dog having been shot was distinctly a shock. "I, too, heard rumors of strange men in town, as I came up from the station. Of course, the police will investigate to-morrow."



CHAPTER XIII

MARY'S MYSTERIOUS PET

The morning dawned on Cragsnook quite as complaisantly as if the night had shed nothing but joy. And quite as indifferently did the girls take up the fun where they left off past midnight, when sheer fatigue had put an end to their tireless pranks. Kicking themselves happily into the new day, vague remembrances of the wild excitement forging through more welcome emotions, the Scouts and their visitor were actually ready for breakfast when Jennie chimed the gong.

Madaline, secretly cherishing the mystery of "something alive" being in Mary's hidden away basket, could scarcely wait for the meal to end before asking Mary about it.

But there were a number of interruptions. Mrs. Dunbar was called twice from the table to answer the telephone, and her monologue hinted the police might be anxious to make an investigation at Cragsnook. Always affable, especially to officials, the last answer given simply was:

"Very well, as early as you please."

That was but a few minutes ago, and now a car was rumbling up the drive.

"You girls may run off and show Mary the grounds," suggested the hostess. "I have to attend to some business with these men."

Mary still wore the white dress, of some open wrought material, like drawn work, and not usually made up into frocks. It was soft and clinging, and her velvet ribbon wound around the waist fell in an artistic sash clear to the end of her full skirt. Her braids were unbound and finished in their own natural curls, this tendency to really curl having been hailed by the girls as worthy of an entirely different mode of hair dressing.

Ginghams for mornings, as customary, gave the other girls quite a different appearance, and in a stolen moment, while dressing, Cleo managed to show Mary a scout uniform. The simple khaki outfit seemed to Mary the most remarkable "rig" she had ever seen, even books had not given her such an idea of a practical girl's uniform.

The polite dismissal of Mrs. Dunbar's followed just as two very business-like men stepped into the oaken hall.

"Do you remember about your basket?" Madaline asked. She was wildly wondering if the live thing had crawled away.

"Oh, yes, indeed. I am going to it directly. Come on, girls, till I show you my pet."

Everyone thought of snakes, varied with a pretty baby bunnie, or perhaps a bird's nest of helpless fledglings, but Mary's pet was none of these.

Out on the small window nook, just off the breakfast room, she found the basket quite as she had left it. The girls watched her eagerly as she first drew out a soft white covering. It was now becoming apparent that this self-same Mary possessed an entirely undeveloped sense of humor, for as she watched the eager faces crowding about her she was surely, deliberately delaying the process of displaying her "pet."

"Guess!" she asked naively.

"A snake!" from Grace.

"A-a—new bird!" from Madaline

"A baby bunnie!" from Cleo.

"I thought you would all say a doll," she replied, "for I had one old doll I never could quite give up. But I didn't bring her, and none of you have guessed. I am afraid you are going to be dreadfully disappointed."

Without further ado she drew from the basket nothing more than a small ordinary looking plant!

"Oh!" sighed Madaline, betraying her chagrin. "Only a flower!"

"That's all," admitted Mary, "but I don't believe you ever saw just this kind," and her voice was as soft and crooning as if she had been petting a real baby.

Cleo and Grace exchanged significant glances. Was the girl queer after all? they were asking.

The little plant looked like nothing more than the ordinary Jack-in-the-Pulpit, but Mary's tenderness in handling the beautifully wrought brass jar, in which the plant was growing, betokened something much more precious than our wood friend Jack.

"He's hungry," went on the child, and at this Grace burst into laughter. Cleo was tittering, and Madaline all but pouting her disappointment.

"I know what you think," Mary said with a good natured smile, "but this little flower really eats—and for his breakfast I must find a fly or spider."

"Oh mercy!" shrieked Grace. "Mary, what are you talking about?"

"Well, you just wait and see. There, catch that little fly or just shoo it over this way."

Becoming serious now, serious enough to see the fun out at any rate, the girls waved hands and handkerchiefs around some perfectly innocent little flies, and presently they made for the plant which Mary had again deposited on the window box. For a minute or two the insects buzzed around, then made for the flower of the plant.

"Mercy!" screamed Grace.

"Land sakes!" added Cleo.

"Oh!" ejaculated Madaline.

But the little fly was gone. The plant had actually eaten it up! Swallowed it whole!

The girls looked at Mary now, as if she were almost uncannily wise, or in some way magical. She expected their attitude, evidently, for her own low musical laugh followed.

"I know you think it is very queer, girls," she explained, "but in the country I come from this is a common plant. Grandie calls it by a long name, but most people call it the Pitcher Plant. You see, it is filled with something that attracts insects, and when they go in for the nectar they can't get out. This kind is rare, and I have watched it lest Janos would get it. In New York he could sell it and I know he would have taken it, but I have kept it hidden for a long time. See how pretty its colors are, and how wonderfully it is shaped and formed?"

"Oh, I remember now," said Cleo. "I have heard Daddy talk of such plants, but of course I never saw one. It is something of an orchid, isn't it?"

All three were now examining Mary's "Pet" closely, getting innocent little flies in line for the scent, which might attract them, and otherwise enjoying the novelty.

"Is it valuable?" asked Madaline, noting the rare crimson color inside the cup.

"Yes, I think this one is, but I like it more than any of the others because I raised it myself. But when you come to our place I will show you our wonders," she offered.

"Is that why you always gather roots?" asked Cleo.

"Not exactly," Mary replied, just a trace of her cloud threatening to darken her face. "But I can't talk about all of it now. I am sure it must be time to go visit Grandie. Do you suppose we may go soon?" This question was addressed to Cleo.

"I'll see if Auntie has finished," Cleo answered, running back to the house. Mary arranged a safer place for her pitcher plant, out where insects might find its fatal honey. Then, gathering up the basket, she, with the others, hurried back to the veranda. They found the three men just leaving, and as Mrs. Dunbar smiled frankly it was easy to guess the result of their interview had not been altogether unpleasant.

Michael had also been in the conference, and he delayed a moment to speak privately with Mrs. Dunbar.

"How is Shep?" she asked aside, so that her voice could not reach the girls.

"Coming around all right," replied the man, gladly. And he brought in a clew to his enemy. "Step inside and look at this." He took from his pocket a handkerchief. It was yellow in color, silk in texture, and was bordered with drawn work. Mrs. Dunbar examined it closely.

"Foreign, of course," she replied. "Those people seem to be pretty well organized. Take care of that, Michael; we may easily match it up later. Now I have to see what we are going to do about Professor Benson. The girls seem to need very little assistance, but we must watch closely to see they make no mistakes. This is more of a plot than I supposed, but our police are glad to get on the track of these men. Here are the children. If they ask for Shep make some reasonable excuse."

The wonderful story of the pitcher plant, of how it ate breakfast of flies and bugs, also what especial value it was—this and much more was poured into the ears of Mrs. Dunbar before she had a chance to grasp the meaning of the newest excitement.

"Wonderful! wonderful!" replied the hostess, really deeply interested in the "fly catcher." "I have always wanted to see one of those plants act."

"I am going to give you this one—please, Mrs. Dunbar," said Mary, timidly. "Janos, that is Reda's brother, has been watching for it. He said a New York woman had offered him a lot of money for one. That is why I brought this one with me. Will you—accept it?"

"Oh gladly, Mary dear. It is a real curiosity, and when Mr. Dunbar comes home he too will be delighted with it. But now I have such good news about Professor Benson. He is getting much stronger. The doctor saw him this morning, and thinks he has been suffering from shock and fear. He advised, however, that we leave him quiet this morning. I knew that would be a disappointment to you, Mary dear, but you wouldn't want to delay his progress."

"Oh, no indeed," and the two hands clasped excitedly. "If only he can recall—get back his memory," Mary corrected hurriedly, "perhaps after all it might all come back."

"You will be able to help the doctors in a day or two, I am sure," suggested Mrs. Dunbar. "It appears to be a case of stagnated memory. Something registered in his brain as extremely important is simply clogged there. When he is stronger, then suggestion may be the key to open that congested memory valve."

"I know—yes—I know," replied Mary, and the far-away look in her own eyes gave the girls a hint which they were sure to follow promptly.

They immediately changed the subject.



CHAPTER XIV

AT THE STUDIO

"You don't mind my running away again, girls?" Mrs. Dunbar asked, folding the yellow telegram into the most unnecessarily minute squares. "It is such a nuisance, but I have to see some of those delegates safely out of New York. Mere artists are not always prudent tourists."

"Auntie dear, we hate to have you go." Cleo dipped her head in the quaint bird-like perk. "But we can have a lovely time here even alone—I mean without you. Oh, no, not without you——" And the burst of laughter that applauded her confusion was like a full colored illustration of a verbal mistake. "Now, you all know what I mean," she finished, pouting prettily.

"Of course we do," acceded her aunt. "You can have a perfectly lovely time without me, and get into the most delicious mischief, tagging poor Jennie along. I have given her orders, you know, to report to me by phone if you take a notion to go up in an airship, or tie a kite by hand to the moon, so don't venture too far from good old earth. Mary, you are getting rosy already. It seems to me, for an old nurse your Reda has rather suddenly given up her charge, not to have inquired for you this morning."

"Oh, Reda wouldn't. She is dreadfully afraid of strangers," replied Mary.

"Why—pray?" asked Mrs. Dunbar simply. Mary shifted uneasily, shrugging her shoulders in the only foreign mannerism she carried, and answering with nothing more than a fleeting expression of annoyance.

"Oh, Reda is so queer, Aunt Audrey," Grace assisted, "she would run like an Indian if you just looked at her square in the eye."

"Is she Indian, Mary?" pressed Mrs. Dunbar gently.

"Yes, that is, she is from a Pacific Island outside of Central America. You see, we were there when Loved One—went away."

Jennie was dusting the rails of the porch, and the little family kept moving about to accommodate her brush and polishing cloth.

"I must take a bag this time," Mrs. Dunbar said, reverting to her necessary New York trip. "I rather envy you chickens running around with no other cares than the next hour's adventure. Mine are all cut and antiseptically dried."

"And we never know what ours are going to be," remarked Madaline who was vainly trying to trap a feeble little fly, to feed to the pitcher plant.

"Come on," suggested Grace, "if we are not going to the Sanitarium let's go to the village. I haven't spent every single cent of my allowance yet, and I should hate to have my princely remittance overlap."

"Whackies on the nut-sundae!" cried Madaline. "I am bankrupt till my ship comes in."

"And I have to send home my Scout Sacrifice," said Cleo. "I promised mother I would not forget a little personal contribution to a charity case we are interested in. A child has to have an operation on her eyes, and we scouts are providing the comforts."

"Oh yes, Mumsey gave mine. She was afraid I would disgrace the troop by forgetting to remit," confessed Madaline.

"And daddy turned mine in, likely for the same reason," said Grace. "Cleo, you are the only one trusted to do her part at this distance. Mary, when you are a scout, you will better understand all our secrets. They're just deli-cious," and she rolled her round eyes till they threatened to take tucks in her dimples.

It required some coaxing to induce Mary to go to the village with them, but they finally won out, and when Mrs. Dunbar embarked for her train, the four little girls waved a happy good-by, interspersed with reiterated promises to be good, and all mind Jennie.

"Can you come to my house now?" asked Mary after the luxury of nut sundaes, purchased with the combined balance of Madaline's and Grace's cash on hand had been disposed of, and the girls faced the early afternoon on Bellaire Center.

"I don't know," faltered Cleo. "We didn't ask Jennie."

"But I am so anxious to see if our things are all right," Mary almost begged. "You needn't be afraid of Reda, I am sure she is gone away."

"How do you know?" Grace asked frankly.

"She would be too frightened to remain at our house after last night. Besides she often goes to New York with Janos. She gets all my clothes there."

"Doesn't she take you to see them, or be fitted?" asked the literal Madaline.

"Oh no, I am not allowed to go on trains. Someone might see me."

Everyone laughed at this, and Mary saw the joke herself. Nevertheless, she made no attempt to explain why she was not supposed to be seen by people outside of the little mountain town.

"I am afraid I shall have to go alone, if you girls feel you ought not to come," she said presently. "I really have to attend to some important things, and we all left in such a hurry last evening."

"Oh, if you have to go we simply must go with you," Cleo decided promptly.

"Surely, Captain Cleo," spoke up Grace. "You see, Mary, Cleo is our captain when we are away from headquarters. Oh, Mary, I do wish you were a scout, you would just love it."

"I am sure I should, I know it takes a lot of courage, and one must do many noble deeds to keep up to the pledges. I should just love to know all about it, and I hope you will tell me some day. Still," and she shrank a little in that timid self-conscious way, "I don't want you to take any risks with me, on account of your scout pledge."

"Please don't think that way, Mary," begged Madaline, always ready with sympathy. "We all just love you, and want to be with you, it has nothing to do with scouting."

"No, indeed," Grace enthusiastically seconded this opinion. "What we are doing with you is a positive joy."

"I don't know what would have become of us in Bellaire if we hadn't met you," Cleo chimed in, serious beyond contention. "Of course, we met a few girls, but we are so accustomed to adventures and activities. I guess we require more things to happen than do most girls. Now, Mary, we will go with you up to the studio, if I can find a boy to take a message to Jennie. I don't want to phone, as she might not understand."

The small boy, not difficult to find around soda fountains on summer afternoons, was glad to accept the offer of a nickel to take a note to Cragsnook, and thereupon the girls set out for Second Mountain.

Mary led the way, romping over vacant lots, climbing fences and otherwise taking short cuts to the hillside.

"We accidentally found your mountain cave one day in a shower," Cleo told her, as they neared that cedar covered mountain table. "We were up here in that dreadful storm the other day."

"Oh, were you? Reda and I had been to the village for Grandie's medicine, and we were also caught in it," said Mary.

No reference was made to the overheard conversation. Not that Cleo wanted to be secretive, but because she felt it might be embarrassing to refer to it.

In spite of the fortifying sunshine, and the fact that Mary had talked of neighbors not far from the studio, the girls each felt a certain apprehension as they neared the scene of their recent exciting adventure. Madaline was noticeably quiet, and not even a beautiful gray squirrel, that hopped directly in their path, with a saucy flirt of its bushy tail, evoked so much as a joyous shout from her. Still she wanted to go to the studio, and now they were in full sight of the low terra cottage lodge.

"Oh, it will seem so strange without Grandie," Mary commented, "but I am so happy that his memory is coming back. If only he could remember—" She checked herself, as she always did, when accidentally she might mention the urgent necessity for Professor Benson "remembering."

In a very business-like way, quite astonishing to her companions, Mary slipped her finger in a tiny pocket, made in her black velvet belt, produced from it a latch key, and with this opened the big, heavy door.

Grace and Cleo were at her heels, determined to show their courage, but within the room everything was still, too still to be pleasant.

"Reda put things in order before she left," Grace remarked. "What a pretty, low, rumbly place this is!"

"How can you be sure Reda is gone?" Cleo asked, staring at the glass door through which the queer lights had warned them of the intruders' danger the night before.

"Here's her everyday fichu," Mary replied. "She never goes out without one—even wears it around the house, so she has donned her best. Yes, she has gone to New York. Here's her yellow handkerchief; she has dressed all up in her nicest things. Let's see if she has taken her bag."

Opening a small door off the hall, opposite the sinister glass portal, Mary entered a sleeping room profusely trimmed up with the brightest of chintz draperies and colorful hangings.

"Yes, her bag is also gone. Well, girls," and Mary turned to them with a frank smile, "I did like Reda, of course, but sometimes she has frightened me so, and then Janos was so awfully rough with dear Grandie."

"But whatever will you do without a housekeeper?" asked Cleo.

"I don't know really"—and she blinked threateningly—"but at any rate I am glad to be free!"

A sense of security had now come to the girls, and they were flitting around, looking at this thing and that, quite as if they had just stepped into some attractive shop to inspect its wares. But they did not go near the leaded glass door!

"Now, girls," Mary called quite soberly, emerging from Reda's room, "I am going to give you a real treat. Just watch."

She sprang to the big glass door and, pressing the set in the lock, the portal slid smoothly back.

"Oh! Oh! Oh!" The exclamation was a soft cadenza, uttered by all three spectators.

The open door revealed a glorious collection of blooming orchids!



CHAPTER XV

ORCHIDIA

"Oh, how perfectly gorgeous!" This a solo from Grace.

"Heavenly, I think!" Cleo chimed in.

"Wherever did you get them all?" asked Grace.

Like a little floral queen, Mary ushered her visitors into this mysterious room, the orchid sanctum of Professor Benson. It was all that the girls had proclaimed it, gorgeous, heavenly and wonderful! The variegated tones of lavendar, known only as orchid, were as elusive as the subtle scent of this tropical bloom. The whole diffusing into something so indescribable that even the spontaneous girls failed for once to rally immediately to a sense of reality. It seemed like a dream, like a picture book, or even a wonderful pastel!

Never before had Mary's quaint personality seemed so well set as she flitted about, bringing her face down to the affectionate shade of flower upon flower, yet never touching with so much as a finger tip the perishable bloom.

The room was, or always had been, a conservatory—the original owner, the famous artist Imlay, delighting in bringing to perfection there the many rare plants and flowers. So the place lent itself exactly to the work of Professor Benson. Many of the orchids hung in leafy baskets, seemingly not requiring soil, but subsisting, as they so peculiarly do, almost in air.

"What are they all for?" stammered Grace.

"Girls, I wish I could tell you all about our orchids, but you see——" Mary hesitated, put her finger to her lips and her eyes went blank.

"I am sure you will soon, Mary-love," Cleo assisted the perplexed child, "and we wouldn't want to know anything of your affairs that you are not at liberty to tell. Whenever we ask a question that is out of order, as we say at our scout meetings, just you answer 'secret' and we will at once change the subject. There, isn't that fair?"

"You are all so fair and thoughtful," Mary replied. "I just feel I can hardly wait to see Grandie, and get his permission to tell you at least a part of our story. But now let me show you some of our rarest orchids. Come over here and see these growing on the side of this rubber tree."

Time passed quickly in such delightful surroundings, and when Cleo glanced at her wrist watch she discovered two hours had been consumed in the time since leaving home, and Jennie should not be made anxious, they had subsequently decided. Consequently the orchid room could not longer be enjoyed on this first visit.

"You see, the wires Grandie uses to give a very light heat," Mary explained. "He is working on a new electric system, and had just turned the current on to try it last night. It is off now. I know how to throw on and off the switch," she assured the girls, as Madaline edged gingerly from the room.

"Don't be afraid, Madie," said Grace. "The wires are now all as dead as fish hooks, and much less dangerous."

"What do you suppose the strange men intended to do?" ventured Cleo. "Just say 'secret' if I am on the wrong track."

"Oh, I know they meant to harm Grandie," replied Mary, soberly. "They pretended, I suppose, that they came to buy orchids, but more likely they came to steal them. Then Janos is always wanting Grandie to take his old queer medicines, and I know they do not make him better. But do come along, girls, they really might be daring enough to come back."

At this Grace and Madaline made a bee-line for the front door, which stood safely wide open. Cleo remained back with Mary, who was most particular about spraying a few precious plants with water from an atomizer before she left.

"No danger of those men coming back to Bellaire by train," said Cleo, as Mary finally sprang the lock on the big door, "but, of course, they might come by auto," she added.

"I heard Janos say he could not get a license to drive a car," Mary said, "and I was glad of that. You see, these foreigners know very little about machinery."

"But they could hire a driver," suggested Grace.

"They would not," Mary insisted, shaking her head. "They are too secretive, and would be afraid others would find them out. Oh dear," and she sighed deeply. "I do not see why we have to suffer so. I have been so happy with you girls I can almost forget, but when I come up here it all rushes back!"

"Now—now, now," warned Grace in her boyish way. "No fair getting glumpy. You are just exactly like a perfectly different girl, Mary-love. We do not intend to let you do any back-sliding. You can learn that much scouting right off, and I think, Cleo, as soon as we get back home we will make her—yes, make her," and she raised her voice in mock severity, "take our scout pledge of good cheer."

Mary smiled through misty eyes. All three scouts had attempted to take one of her arms, and as she really had not enough members to go around that way, Madaline grabbed the ends of her big long braids, and declared she just had to hold on to something.

They tramped along, down the broad path and again out into the roadway from the once famous artist's estate.

"You have neighbors within call, should yon have needed them, Mary," Cleo said. "I am glad you were not too lonely before we met you."

"Yes, but I have never known the folks who live in that house," she replied, drawing in her lips to a very thin red line. "I heard one of the maids make a remark about us one day, and I never wanted to know any of them after that."

"I don't blame you," agreed Madaline. "Mean maids are so mean, and lovely ones are as nice as Jennie, and she's perfect. I hope she won't mind us coming up here?" a little anxiously.

"As long as we are getting back in such good time I am sure she won't," Cleo assured them.

"You know, girls," said Mary, stopping suddenly to better gain their entire attention, "I did not forget to bring some flowers back. I am sure Mrs. Dunbar would have loved them, and I should have so enjoyed giving her some, but I promised Grandie never to bring any through the streets. He is so queer about them, you see," and once more the secret topic was inadvertently touched upon. "I may have all I like always," she hurried to explain, "in fact I have many named, and they are my very own, but just yet I would not risk letting people know we have them."

"Oh," said Grace so simply, and so softly that the expression might have been an echo from the sigh of a passing summer breeze.

"But the queer wild bushes and things all growing around the windows?" asked Madaline. "Why do you have them near the glorious orchids?"

"Grandie thinks they are a protector. You can only see them when you look in through the glass, and so no one would ever guess they really hide orchids," Mary explained.

"And that is why you get all the wild roots from the fields?" Grace exclaimed, delighted to have solved that much of the mystery.

"Yes, that is partly the reason, but Grandie makes a fine fertilizer out of the roots, also. You see our beauties are very tender, and must have special heat and special nourishment."

"And how will you know your house is safe while you are away?" pressed Cleo.

"Of course we don't know," Mary replied, "but there wasn't anything else to do. I feel you girls have done it all. I have been such a baby and, as Reda always insisted, I have seemed half asleep. But honestly, girls," and again Mary pulled them up to a standstill in their walk, so that her remarks would not possibly go astray. "I am like someone who really was asleep, and was just waking up. At least that is the way I feel."

"And you are getting such a lovely color," Grace complimented. "Even if things did get stolen from your house for want of caretakers it seems to me worth while for you and the professor to grow strong," declared the practical little scout.

"It is, indeed," agreed Mary. "You really can't know how much it means just yet. Secret!" she called out, inaugurating Cleo's idea of avoiding the forbidden topic by giving the cry of warning.

They all joined in the laugh that followed, and when they took to the road that slanted down over Second Mountain like an inclined pole, they trotted along, almost running down the steep grade.

"We ought to have brakes to go down here safely," said Cleo. "But I do love to run down a big, high hill. Let's!"

"I'll race you," challenged Madaline, and the words were no more than uttered when the four girls dashed off, throwing back shoulders and bracing heads high to avoid rolling "head over heels" down the steep mountain road.

Past the vineyard, past the quarry pole, and still on past the mountain house, they kept up the uncertain pace, and finally, reaching a smooth, almost level lawn, that stole out to play on the roadside, they all flopped down so suddenly and so unceremoniously that they all but rolled in sheer disregard of possible grown-up dignity.

Recovering their equilibrium, the quartette at once set to their popular lawn-loved task of searching for four-leaf clovers. So intent were they in the hunt they did not observe the approach of two maids, coming towards them from the house they sat directly in front of. But they heard them presently!

"I know it's that queer old gypsy that comes over the mountain every day," said one. "I told Officer Brennen if he wanted to get her—he might stop in here."

At that remark the girls paused in their hunt, and listened intently.

"Hush!" said the other maid. "There's the little girl now with those visitors at Cragsnook."

Mary dropped all her clovers as if they suddenly burned her fingers. Her face flushed deeply.

"Come on, girls!" said Cleo, aloud. "We are all rested enough now, I guess," and it was a much sobered group that again picked up the trail down the mountain into Bellaire Center.



CHAPTER XVI

PROFESSOR BENSON

Trust to girls to solve problems. There were those wonderful orchids, to be aired and watered daily, that beautiful studio which had been rented furnished, and for which Professor Benson was personally responsible, yet the girls managed it all beautifully.

Tom, the trusted taxi driver, was engaged to take them to the studio and back every morning, and quite as if the task were a joy, and it really was; the girls went back and forth, saw that everything was all right, and daily Mary became more and more accustomed to the change in her surroundings.

Following orders at the sanitarium, Mary had not yet visited her "Grandie," but this morning the telephone permission had been called in, and on their way from the studio she was to stop at Crow's Nest.

"I am so glad you decided to lay off your pure white, Mary dear," said Mrs. Dunbar as the girls were ready to leave. "It was pretty and becoming, but having worn it so long must have been depressing. Now you just look like a rose bud in that soft pink, and I feel certain Professor Benson will be delighted with the improvement."

"It was so good of you to shop for me, Mrs. Dunbar," answered Mary. "I suppose I would have had pretty things before, if anyone could have bought them, but you see Reda didn't know," she finished loyally.

"Course not," chimed in Madaline. "So long as she drained the rainbow dry of colors for herself, she didn't care what happened to anyone else. Aunt Audrey, you just ought to see her room at the studio. It looks like a leaky paint shop."

"Yes, Reda loves colors herself," agreed Mary, "but I think one reason why she thought I ought always wear white was for Loved One. But I am sure she would dress me in flower colors if she were here," said Mary, gently, smoothing the soft pink voile she now wore so becomingly.

"All aboard!" cried Cleo, climbing into her place on the seat beside Tom. Since she was too young to drive a car, she did the next best thing—took a seat beside the driver. No wonder Mary was a changed child, to see her as she sat between Grace and Madaline, her cheeks as pretty and pink as the new dress; her heavy braids, though braided still, unbound half way with the ends floating around in curls, the delight, if not the envy, of her companions. Surely Mary was already a much changed girl. As Grace had threatened, she had been initiated into the Girl Scout secrets to the extent of taking the "good cheer and helpful" pledge, and that this had furnished the stray child with a practical motto, was very evident in the almost complete effacement of her former wistful, dejected and often gloomy moods. Altogether it was a delightful achievement, due principally to the subtle and gentle influence of the sincere little Girl Scouts.

Over the hill now to Second Mountain seemed almost too short a run, save that to-day when "Orchidia," the house of orchids, had been looked after, there was to be the visit to Professor Benson, the long wished-for meeting of Maid Mary and her "Grandie."

Everything seemed as usual at the studio. The flowers were blossoming riotously, and the place was heavy with the glory of the tropics confined in a mere glassy room of this temperate zone.

"It must be wonderful in the land where these come from, Mary-love," said Cleo, as she bent over a magnificent gray lavender bloom, melting into liquid purple, and shading again into misty pinks, like tints from a spring sunrise over the ocean—a sunrise that steals the gray mists and snatches up the pearly foam, to paint its unnamed colors on an expectant sky. "Oh, it must be too wonderful to describe," said Cleo, enthused to rapture.

"It is, indeed," said Mary, "but I often thought the wealth of flowers there was too much for earth. You see, it is very near the equator, very hot and so unbearably oppressive. That is what gave us all the deadly fever." She was trimming off a few withered leaves from a plant in its hanging basket, and standing on the high rustic stool, her face above the blossoms, brought sighs of admiration even to Grace, who ordinarily disclaimed so small a thing as mere vanity.

"But, Mary, how did you become so well educated away out there?" asked Cleo.

"Oh, I had an English nurse, and a governess always," replied Mary, surprise at the question toning her answer.

"And your daddy?" Grace had asked the question before she had a chance to "feel her way to it."

"Daddy!" answered Mary, a tear falling into the heart of an orchid. "Daddy—was lost!"

"In the sea?" Cleo felt impelled to ask further.

"Yes, he had the fever, and some sailors took him out on the water to refresh him—and he was lost, overboard!"

"Oh, how dreadfully sad!" murmured Grace, putting her arm around Mary, who sat now on a bench in a bower of ferns. "But, Mary-love, see all the sisters you have now, and you know how dearly we all do love you!"

"Yes," Mary finally answered, "but I feel little bit guilty, that is not exactly guilty, but deceitful, as I cannot tell you who I am really. There! I should cry 'Secret' to myself, for I am getting on dangerous ground. Come along! I am going to keep my scout pledge in mind, and smile away my tears. See!" and she brushed two living pearls from her cheeks. "There now, all our work is done, and we are ready for Grandie."

"Oh!" exclaimed Madaline, in evident delight. "See the perfectly gorgeous butterfly! However did it get in here?"

"Oh, we coax them in once in a while, but they soon fly out to freedom again. Yes, that is a beauty. He has taken some of the orchid colors," said Mary.

The brilliant, noiseless, flying creature soared up and sailed down from flower to flower, resting finally on a humble little clover bloom.

"See, he likes the field blossoms best," remarked Cleo. "I suppose if we opened a window he would turn his back on all this vain-glory, and float away to a roadside buttercup."

"Come along, pretty maidens, we must away!" quoted Mary. "Grace, please be sure the latch is tightly fastened on the fern window. Did I put enough water in their fountain?"

"Oh, plenty," replied Grace. "See the hose is still dripping."

"All right. Come, I am just all a-quiver to see Grandie. And, girls, will you mind if I ask you to go out first? I must bring one little thing to Grandie, and it's part of our secret." She smiled sweetly and the girls answered with just as pretty, dimpled acquiescence.

No one would dream of inquiring what Mary was bringing to the sick man at Crow's Nest, but it seemed to be associated with the orchids. Just why anything there should be made a secret of puzzled the girls.

In a few minutes Mary joined them on the porch, and Tom threw in the clutch of the car, rather impatiently, as they piled in the machine again.

It was a perfect day, and the girls fairly bubbled with the joy of it, as the taxi rattled on.

"You come in with me, won't you, Cleo?" Mary asked, when the car swung into Crow's Nest tan-barked drive.

"If you want me to," assented Cleo, "but do you think your Grandie would like a third party to spoil your fairy confab?"

"Oh, I am sure he would like to meet all the girls again," Mary spoke politely, "but just to-day among those strangers, perhaps two of us would be best."

So it was agreed, and Cleo jumped out with Mary, while Grace and Madaline prepared to play "finger scotch" while they waited outside in the car.

A boy in white duck uniform opened the door and showed the girls into a very restful waiting room. Presently a white robed nurse appeared, took Mary's name simply as "Mary to see Professor Benson," went to a wall phone, and returned to conduct the girls to the waiting patient.

What a lovely surprise! There sat the professor out in a big, comfortable steamer chair, on the loveliest little porch, right out of the window from his own room.

"Grandie! Grandie, dear!" cried Mary, almost running to throw her arms around him.

"Mary, Mary darling!" he answered, extending his hands to meet her embrace.

Cleo held back. She would not intrude on that moment of happiness, as the two, speechless with affection, held each other in fond embrace. Then Mary threw up her head to look in the face of the man who seemed the only parent and protector she had known for so long a time.

"How perfectly lovely you look, Grandie!" she exclaimed. "Why, whatever did they do to you? You—look so—different."

She was studying a change, unable to name it, but impossible to escape it. He was different. His eyes were bright, and they looked at her with a focus directed from a clear mind.

"And you, baby!" he answered. "At last you have taken on the sunlight. What is it—with you?"

"Oh, my pink dress!" Mary answered promptly. "See, here is Cleo in her sea-green, and the other girls outside are wearing, one a blue and the other yellow. You always loved the bright colors so, Grandie, but you know Reda would not let me have anything but white."

"Oh, yes, that was it," he replied, including a smiling greeting to Cleo in his pleasant bow. "Yes, Reda wanted white, and it always made me think of death."

"Now, Grandie, don't you think I am waking up, if not actually awake?" and Mary made a pretty little curtsey with a sweep of her skirts. "Oh, you won't know me. All the ghosts of our tropical home are melting away. The girls are too lovely, and Mrs. Audrey Dunbar is simply the most charming woman——"

"Dunbar, did you say, Mary? Dunbar?" he repeated a question of memory in his voice.

"Yes," spoke Cleo quickly. "Did you ever know the name, Professor?"

"I may have, child. You see, my brain, as it grows stronger, fancies it knows many more things than it really does. The cells seem to be jealous of each other, and they keep prodding me to recognize their claims on memory, one before the other, as quickly as any new, interesting topic is mentioned. But the doctors here know, and I am certain they will untangle the snarl presently. Then, Mary-love, we may be able to trace our lost prize." He kissed her forehead to make the hope more emphatic, and she, leaning close to him in his big chair, tilted her head nearer still, acknowledging the caress.

"Perhaps you may have known some of Uncle Guy Dunbar's people," suggested Cleo. "I know they were all scientists. Uncle Guy is a writer, you know." She was addressing the professor.

"It might be, little girl," he replied, a thoughtful look overspreading his handsome, scholarly face. "But, Mary, dear, how is the studio?" he asked.

"Just lovely, Grandie. Everything is behaving beautifully, and we go every day to attend to things——"

"Doesn't Reda look after things properly?"

"Oh, yes, certainly," Cleo answered before Mary could do so. She saw the professor was ignorant of the changes at the studio, and wisely guessed he should not be taxed with too many cares, without permission from the sanitarium nurse. Mary took Cleo's cue quickly, and, after making a few general comments, tactfully changed the subject.

Then remembering Mary had planned some secret for the professor, Cleo stepped out in the hall, ostensibly to read a big, framed testimonial, but really to give Mary some time alone with him. A nurse stepped up to Cleo and spoke very cordially.

"Isn't he wonderfully better?" asked the white gowned young woman, with the capable air, so characteristic of professional women.

"Yes, he seems greatly improved," replied Cleo.

"His mind is unfolding like a child's," went on the nurse. "The doctors think his home life has been against him. He is such a profound student, and has had no relaxation. The wheels just buzz in one direction all the time," said the nurse with a very attractive smile. Cleo had always a high regard for the graduate nurse, but she decided this girl was her ideal of the type.

"Are you cousins?" asked the nurse kindly.

"No," replied Cleo, "but very dear friends."

"I must go now," Mary's voice floated from the little veranda off the professor's room, and Cleo turned back from the corridor. "Cleo, come here a moment," called Mary. "Grandie wants to say something to you."

Cleo advanced to take the professor's hand as he held it to her.

"Little girl," he said, as his eyes lighted with a soft, affectionate glow. "Mary has been telling me—and it is all remarkable. You are wonderful little girls to have rescued her, and I feel, daughter, the time is coming when we shall be able at least to thank you, though we never can do that adequately. I have given Mary permission to break a pledge we took when we came back to New York months ago. Months!" he repeated. "It seems like years. But I believe now it was all a question of health; we were both sick from fright. There!" and he reluctantly raised his voice to the note of dismissal. "I must not anger my good nurse, and this interview was restricted to just thirty minutes by that faithful little clock."

"Then you think the—other matter—will be all right that way." Mary faltered with the evident intention of being understood by the professor only.

"Oh yes, child, that is splendid. Just do it as we planned—and, Mary, remember to use your cheeks. Daughter," this to Cleo, "see that my little girl draws some money for the good things you all like. She has plenty of it," and he shook his head definitely. "She must not want for anything a little girl should have."

More puzzled than ever, Cleo made her adieux, and when she and Mary joined Grace and Madaline in the auto she personally felt like a wonderful book with uncut pages—overburdened with hidden information and delicious secrets.



CHAPTER XVII

A SECRET SESSION

"Girls!" Mary addressed all three, just before dinner on the evening of the day she had called at Crow's Nest, "we must have a real conference—the kind you have told me about in your scout talks. How shall we begin, and where can we go to make sure no one will overhear us?"

"In our play-room over the garage," suggested Cleo, "that's really our club room, you know."

"Yes, that is the safest place," Grace agreed, while Madaline wagged "yes" with her bobbed head. "Besides, we can leave Shep outside, and he will warn us if anyone should come around," finished Grace.

But in spite of their serious business, they were really human little girls after all, for even the prospect of Mary's secrets did not forestall a vigorous romp to the garage. Madaline fell in first on Michael's sponges, tools and accessories, for the Dunbar car, which had been laid up for repairs during the absence of the owner, Mr. Guy Dunbar, was now being overhauled—a sign the owner was expected soon to return.

"Oh, Michael!" Madaline apologized, gathering up her feet in their pretty pomps, and shaking herself free from the accessories, "I couldn't help tumbling in, and I hope I didn't scatter your nuts and bolts and things!"

"All right, little girls," Michael greeted them. "The room up-stairs is all aired, and Jennie was down to-day with some fixin's. Why don't you ask her and me to join your club?" he joked inquiringly.

"Yes, of course we should," assented Cleo, who was regarded as Captain. "That will be lovely; you could be our—our——"

"Grand Marshal!" suggested Michael.

"Yes," and Grace clapped her hands joyfully.

"And Jennie could be our—our——" But Madaline, who attempted to assign Jennie, was failing miserably in the attempt.

"Don't give Jennie too high an office," interposed Michael with a twinkle in his eye. "I wouldn't exactly care to have her for my boss."

"Come along to the meeting, girls!" called Cleo, "and we will vote on the new members. Michael, if you are black-balled you may blame Madaline, you know," and as a protest against such a contingency, Michael pegged his biggest sponge at Madaline, who ducked just in time to give the wet flap to Grace. The jolly interlude somewhat delayed the business session originally set out for, but it evidently acted as a stimulant to the proceedings when they finally got under way, for a livelier session could scarcely be imagined.

Cleo explained some of the routine of regular meetings to the new member, inscribed on the scout book simply as "Maid Mary," then all further formalities were wavered and business plunged into.

"I am so anxious to tell you at least some of our story, girls," began Mary, "and I know, as Grandie gets stronger, he will be able to remember some of the important missing details. You know, of course, he is not my grandfather, but a gentleman who rescued me," she said.

"Rescued you from what?" asked Madaline, impulsively.

"That's all in the story," replied Mary, "and honestly, girls, I don't know how to begin, but I think I ought to go backwards."

"Yes, do," urged Cleo. "It will be clearer to us if we can connect with the parts we have actually experienced."

"You wonder, of course," Mary began again, "what actually happened that first night I came here. Really someone did call me," Mary insisted with wide eyes. "I can hear the voice yet. I know it was someone who knew me, therefore it must have been Reda."

"We all thought someone was around," Cleo ventured, "and did you know Shep was shot in the leg that night?"

"No, really," exclaimed Mary in astonishment. "I am sure Reda did not do that. She is dreadfully afraid of a revolver. Once when Grandie had one, as he thought someone was prowling about, he left it under his pillow, and Reda wouldn't touch it, and you would never imagine what a silly thing she did. She scooped it up on a dust-pan and dumped it in the bureau drawer. Can you imagine anyone doing that with a loaded revolver?"

"Oh, how absurd!" exclaimed Grace.

"It was lucky it was not self-cocked," declared Cleo.

"Well, I know Reda wouldn't touch a revolver, so no one I knew could have injured lovely Shep," said Mary, somewhat dismayed.

"But you remember, Mary, the man you called Janos was out from New York that day," suggested Madaline.

"Yes, I know," said Mary, "but I hope it was in no way my fault poor Shep was injured."

"Of course it was not," Cleo said quickly, seeing a possible unpleasant trend in their review. "It must have been someone who was just prowling around. You know, girls, all Jennie's lettuce was pulled up by the roots the night before Shep was shot."

At the mention of lettuce Mary flushed. Then recovering her composure, she remarked:

"Reda would pull up garden things. She couldn't seem to understand that growing things were private property. You see, in her country every sort of stuff grows so luxuriously Reda never could understand why it is different here. She was always searching for greens to cook for Grandie, and I was often afraid she would give him something poisonous," Mary said. "Poor Reda," she sighed. "I wonder where she is?"

"But, Mary," urged Cleo, "do you know actually that you climbed out the window in your nightie, and sat on a limb of the tree exactly like Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens? I shall never forget how cute you looked, even in lantern lights, as you hugged the button ball tree!" and at the joyous memory all the girls fairly rolled in glee. Grace slid off the improvised couch; Madaline doubled up on the steamer rug which was serving as an Oriental on the floor, and Cleo put her perky little head through such a course of exercises as would have done credit to a beauty specialist in neck treatment. It was so very funny a thing to remember. Mary perched in a tree a la Peter Pan, in her white night robe, Cleo climbing out after her in her bluebird pajamas, then the spectators around the base of the tree in various improvised garbs, not really passed by the censor. Yes, it was howlingly—shriekingly funny, just now!

"But do let us get along with the mysteries," begged Grace, unwinding herself. "Mary, you were going backwards and you haven't got past the first tree."

"Well, I guess I will have to jump to the most interesting part," said Mary. "You see, girls, my mother's folks didn't want her to marry my daddy, because he wasn't rich. He was a scientist, and I am sure a wonderful man, but mother's folks were very wealthy, and when she went off exploring with daddy her folks sort of deserted her. Then, when she fell ill, and daddy fell ill, and I was going to be all alone——" She paused to choke back too determined a sigh, then continued. "When they feared they were going, one of the other explorers promised to look out for me. He is Grandie, but his name isn't Benson, but he doesn't know that I know that. He lost a very precious treasure, and on account of that he is sort of hiding, although he really never did a single thing wrong," declared Mary, loyally.

"Did they go out on a regular exploring expedition?" asked Cleo very seriously, a new thought coming to her active brain.

"Yes, I suppose so. Why?" Mary inquired in turn.

"I was just thinking—but never mind. Don't let me interrupt you, Mary. Tell us about your daddy."

"Daddy was determined not to let the fever take him, so, sick as he was, he insisted on going out to sea, but he—didn't come back."

Quick to save Mary from the threatening tears, Grace asked, "What were they exploring for?"

"Why, for orchids. I thought you knew," replied Mary, rather surprised at the question.

"No, we didn't know," Cleo said very thoughtfully, "but we guessed those wonderful orchids must have come from a tropical clime."

"Yes, we brought the bulbs with us, and that's where I still have to say 'secret,' Cleo dear," Mary responded, smiling to assure her friends she would have told them more of the mystery if she had been free to do so.

"And what is your name, really?" ventured Madaline.

"You may think it very strange, but I am not sure. Daddy used a book name, out on his exploration trips, and mother's family name was never mentioned. Grandie had my papers but you see"—and she hesitated quite a long time, then in a subdued voice she continued—"you see Grandie became ill, and he forgot. That is one reason why I am so happy his memory is returning."

"Oh, wouldn't it be lovely if you turned out to be a great lady!" Madaline rhapsodized, true to form in a girl's love of excitement.

"I wouldn't want to be a great lady!" replied Mary, tossing back her head disdainfully. "I would rather just be a little girl scout like you!"

"Hurrah! Hurrah! for our new Tenderfoot. Let's put her through an initiation, girls!" suggested Cleo. "Mary, don't forget where you left off, and we'll take a recess. Come on. First you must slide down that pole. Look out for Michael; he has a pail of water he might like to see you slide into."

Romping and racketing took the place of serious reminiscences for the time, and if Mary felt inclined to be sorrowful at her revived memories the True Treds quickly vanquished the gloom foe, until tiring of the very vigorous exercise, they settled down again for a last word before closing the meeting.

"Was Reda with you all the time?" Cleo asked Mary when they were finally quieted to rational speech. Somehow Cleo seemed to sense a solution to the mystery Mary was so cautiously unfolding.

"She left the island with us. We must have been very near the equator off of Central America, and when the fever broke out all the English left. We came on a very miserable ship, but we were very glad to escape."

"And those men Reda knows," went on Cleo, like a little inquisitor, "did you meet them on the ship?"

"I don't really know, but I have heard Grandie declare to Reda that they followed us. I blame them for most of our trouble, of course."

"And I would, too," declared Grace. "Good thing you scared them off with your flare-up, Madaline. Will you ever forget that movie scene, with all the lights!"

"But, girls," insisted Mary, serious again, "you know I do not feel I should stay here, as I am staying, any longer than I actually have to. I know you are all perfectly lovely, and Mrs. Dunbar is like a—young woman who lives in a shoe, with so many children and so forth, but I also know something about propriety, and it seems an imposition for me to bother you so much."

"There, now," wailed Cleo, "just when everything is being so beautifully fixed. Mary-love, I have a real scheme, but it's a secret. Can't I have a secret same as you?" Cleo twisted her head characteristically. "At any rate," she continued, "we haven't any idea of letting out Peterina Panna (that's my feminine for Peter Pan); we haven't any idea of letting her escape. She must stay right here until all this delicious mystery is cleared up. You see, Peterina Panna, we are only beginning to know your fairyland story, and now I for one am determined to put all the pieces together and make a beautiful real dream out of it, only, of course, the dream must be true."

"Yes, and I just wrote home begging an extension of time, so I could be in the fairy play at the end," declared Madaline, "for I am going to have you worked into a princess or something beautiful like that," decided romantic little Madaline.

"I know you are all sincere," Mary said gently, "and of course it would be difficult to arrange about going away just now, with Grandie not strong. But he suggested that I ask Mrs. Dunbar's advice on a boarding school."

"Don't you dare!" cried Cleo. "She might just pack us all off, and of course we couldn't blame her, for we have turned Cragsnook into a regular institution for noisy girls. But, hark ye! Aunt Audrey loves it that way, and she is planning more noise for Uncle Guy's return. And wait until you see him! You will love him. But please to remember he is especially my uncle. And now, scouts, I am going to call this meeting adjourned. I can smell harvest apples all the way up here. Is there anything better than those juicy early apples!"

The girls made that opinion unanimous, and what was left of Michael's apples fifteen minutes later would not even make pickings for Jennie's pet gray hen.



CHAPTER XVIII

IN THE SHADOWS

"Cleo, come here," Grace beckoned her chum, as Mary and Madaline started for a fishing trip to the little brook that capered through the Cragsnook lands, at the foot of an ambitious group of hills. "I am just so anxious to talk to you," Grace almost implored.

"And I am just dying to talk to you," declared Cleo, "so we ought to have a lovely time. Come on for a walk down to the stone bridge. No one is going that way at this hour."

"Because lovers are scarce around here, I suppose," Grace guessed, "for twilight, lovers and stone bridges are always combined in the movies."

"Then we will be the lovers," proposed Cleo. "Come along, darling," and she twined her arm around the shoulders of her friend, in sincere affection, if in pretended affectation.

"I know what you are going to say," Grace began. "It's about Mary's secret."

"Of course," admitted Cleo. "I have been breathless with excitement since she told us. Grace, do you see what may have happened? Just what may have, of course."

"You mean she may belong to people in America who would love to know about her?"

"Yes, that is an easy guess. But why should Professor Benson deny her identity?"

"He is also denying his own. Why does he do that?"

"And there is not the slightest possibility he could ever have committed a crime. No man with his personality is ever a criminal."

"No, indeed," vouched Grace, quite unconscious of posing as an expert on character.

"It's very mysterious," went on Cleo, "and when Mary mentioned the name Dunbar to him he seemed to recall it somehow. I asked him if he ever knew anyone named Dunbar, and he passed it off on his brain playing queer tricks on him. But all the same he did seem to have a memory of it."

"Now, Cleo Harris, don't you dare go getting Mary in your family," ordered Grace, jokingly. "It would be just Cleoistic to have it turn out that way. No, Mary is going to be a princess, to suit Madaline this time. Let's sit down here on the bridge and try to figure it all out," she proposed.

The broad stone coping over the little stream offered an attractive resting place for the self-appointed delegates, and the twilight hour a most opportune time for their conference.

"I am going to do two things first——" began Cleo.

"Oh, I wouldn't," mocked Grace. "I would do one thing first, the other way would be woozy."

"Now you know what I mean, and this isn't a grammar test," pouted Cleo. "Well, then, first, I am going to write to Uncle Guy. He knows so much about detective work—all writers do, you know, and I feel he could help us solve the mystery. I am going to send him that picture we took the other day, so he can see what Mary looks like."

"I think that is really a brilliant idea, Cleo," said Grace, seriously. "There might be some reason for Professor Benson noticing the name Dunbar. Even if I do take the risk of you getting in a claim, still, I have to be fair," and she squeezed the arm that lay over her own. "I think the pictures are splendid. I sent one to Margaret. Somehow I feel a little lonely for Margaret, don't you?"

"Yes, it would have been lovely for her to share all this, but perhaps they may come to New York before the season is over. Let us hope so. Now, for my second big idea: I am going to make inquiries at the New York museum about exploring parties. They may have records of the scientific men who went to the tropics for orchids, and I may be able to solve some of the mystery that way."

"Say, Cleo," said Grace, dimpling and making pretty faces at the slanting rays dipping into the brook from the early nightfall, "I do believe you are related to your Uncle Guy, the writer, for you have such original ideas. However did you think of that?"

"Oh, it is not original, really, Grace. I saw an account of a report of such an expedition in one of Uncle Guy's magazines, and that gave me the idea."

"But it wouldn't give me such an idea in a thousand years," admitted Grace. "However would you go about it?"

"I'll try to get some dates and other facts from Mary, and then I'll just write a letter. Maybe I will ask you to do the writing, as your hand is much better than mine."

"Oh, I'll be glad to help out even as your secretary, but suppose we accidentally betray Mary's secret—then what would happen?"

"I have thought of that," Cleo reflected, "and I have decided, since Professor Benson and Mary are both so good, nothing but good can eventually be discovered about them. Even a lot of mistakes can't be really held against one, and I am hoping there won't even be mistakes, but glories to unfold. Isn't it exciting! Aunt Audrey is just fascinated with Mary, and is going to paint her as soon as things straighten out, and I for one can feel the tangles putting out into a straight line right now. Here they come, with their fish poles. Don't they both look like a picture? Mary is so quaint, and Madaline is such an adorable baby. Come on, and see the fish they didn't catch."

"We did, too, catch something," declared Madaline, when all four girls met on the bridge. "We caught a lovely big fat turtle. Just see!"

It was indeed a lovely turtle she set down on the rough country walk, and, perhaps scenting the damp grass near the brook, Mr. Turtle promptly crawled off to possible seclusion and hoped for safety. Even turtles have preferences, and do not always appreciate the personal attention of Girl Scouts. They seem to prefer the company of hop toads and toad stools.

"Oh, I'll lose him!" cried Madaline; "and I wanted him for Michael's garden. He would chase all the other little eating bugs and worms, wouldn't he, Mary?" and down the side of the bank, running to the brook, Madaline pursued the recalcitrant reptile. But the hill was very steep, the stones loose, and the sand slippery, and Madaline began to slide.

"Oh, look out, Madie!" yelled Grace. "You'll slide right in the brook!"

But it was too late. Madaline had no chance to "look out." All she could do was to slide, and that she kept at, rolling stones and tossing sand down in a perfect avalanche.

"Oh! oh! oh!" screamed Mary, digging her heels deep in the loose bank in an attempt to follow the sliding figure ahead. "You'll go right in the brook and it's deep. We're so near the dam!"

"And you'll be in with her," screamed Cleo—"Madaline, grab that bush, never mind the old turtle!"

But Madaline had now reached the bottom, and feet first she struck the water, just as Mary grabbed her skirt and held on tight enough to keep her from sliding in further.

"Oh, my!" cried Madaline, trying to back out. "I thought I was gone."

"You were!" insisted Grace, who had come to the edge by way of a safer track through bushes instead of on an avalanche. "You almost frightened us to death! Just see how swift the water is here."

"I don't want to see it. The earth is swift enough for me," declared Madaline, shaking the water out of her slippers, which fortunately had not fallen off in the water. "I have been both fishing and turtle hunting to-night, and all I got was—wet," she groaned. "And my nice clean gingham! Whatever will Jennie say!"

"Nothing, dearie, don't you mind," soothed Cleo. "We are so glad to see you safely landed we can even forgive the turtle. It was a perfectly foolish thing to do, to fall in the brook at this hour, with not even a boy scout to perform a daring, dashing rescue. Madie, I'm surprised at your lack of judgment. Think how Mally Mack would have loved to pull you out by the hair!"

"And carry you home in his manly arms!" chimed in Grace. "What a chance wasted!"

"And think of rolling our little fat girl on a big bumple barrel——"

But Madaline had recovered her poise and posture, not to mention proclivities, and, taking to the better foot-hold on the clumps of grass along the bank, a little farther from the bridge, she managed to scamper after both her tormentors. Mary was also in the race, and on reaching the road safely even the turtle was forgotten.

"Am I all mud?" asked Madaline, shaking her skirts.

"No, really you are not," Mary assured her. "It is only your slippers and stockings, and it is so dark they won't show. But I hope my pretty dress is not soiled. I was foolish to put it on for fishing, but I was so proud I wanted to try it."

"Oh, come on. It's getting dark and Aunt Audrey is having company," said Cleo. "Madaline, you will have to change your shoes, of course, then we can come out again, and go for a walk. It's all right to go toward the village, but we must turn our backs on the mountains with sundown. Mary-love, when may we go up to the studio to do some exploring?" she changed the subject. "You know you said you wanted to look over Reda's things and send them to her, if you knew where she might get them?"

"Yes, I have been anxious about that," said Mary, falling in step with Cleo, while Grace went ahead with Madaline. "I would so like to know about Reda. I wonder where she is?"

"Wouldn't she go to friends?" Cleo asked.

"Oh, those men would frighten her, and you remember what that woman on the mountain road said about police the other day," and Mary shuddered as she recalled the maid's careless speech about the police looking for the gypsy woman. "I feel so helpless sometimes," the child sighed.

"But please don't, Mary," Cleo spoke up. "You have no idea how much we girls have done already in difficult matters. Why, I wouldn't be afraid to go to New York with Aunt Audrey and look for Reda, if you are worried about her," Cleo volunteered.

"Oh, I wouldn't have you think of such a thing," Mary quickly replied with something like fear in her voice. "I hope Mrs. Dunbar is not taking any trouble about her?"

"No, indeed. Aunt Audrey is so busy with her pictures I don't see what she does when Uncle Guy is home, and he wants any attention," Cleo remarked. "Mary, I wondered if we might not pack up Reda's things? She won't come back now, surely, and I think you might feel better to be sure her folks would not come around for anything. Have you any address we might send to?"

"No, but she kept papers. I could understand them if we could find them. Perhaps we better look to-morrow. Here we are home, and the girls have gone in already. I guess we must have crawled slower than Madaline's turtle."

"And it's quite dark," said Cleo. "Mary," she whispered, "isn't that a man over there behind that tree? See, he just stepped back from the light. Let us talk as if we saw the other girls so he won't think we're alone," she hastily muttered. Then in a clear voice she called—"Wait a minute, Benny, I want you to carry this" (it was the fishing rod). "Oh, all right," she kept on to the imaginary boy. "Here it is," and with that both girls ran into the driveway and up to the house like two frightened deer. At the porch they stopped breathless. Mrs. Dunbar and two friends were sitting there.