"Put another dish over it to keep it hot," Cora ordered. "And can't some one set a table? That is not such a difficult thing to do."

"See here!" called out Ed, "this is no pancake party. I am not going to stay up here cooking all night. I am going down to eat. We have enough of tomatoes warmed to fill the wash bowl, and I love canned tomatoes if they are out of a washbowl. We washed the bowl, and sterilized it, and it's as good as a soup tureen."

There stood the white wash basin almost filled with the steaming tomatoes. As Ed said, there could be no objection to the crockery.

Jack had charge of the water for tea. This took a long time to boil, owing to the fact that the kettle was a very much bent-up affair that had been rescued from the ruined kitchen.

Bess was cooking canned peas, while Belle insisted that all she could do was to turn over, with a fork, the things that cooked nicely on Cora's pan.

"Done to a turn!" announced Jack, as he jumped down with his pots. "Now, if you folks need any more you will really have to go into active service."

His initiative was followed by the others, and presently the less timid of the guests had put food into pans and taken up their places on the tables to do their cooking, while it seemed that all at once every one "fell to" and procured something to eat.

"Let there be no unbecoming haste!" remarked Walter gently, but it was a great meal, that.



CHAPTER XII

QUEER COBBLERS

"Isn't she disappointing?" remarked Hazel.

"Very," answered Cora.

"To think that she should leave us for a patient!"

"I cannot understand it."

"I have heard that girls not home raised are like that—they have no sentiment."

"Nor honor, either!"

"Well, she didn't think she was bound to go with us, and, of course, there was money besides reputation in being on the spot when the hotel owners would arrive. But I am disappointed."

"I hope the boys will not feel obliged to return for her," and Cora's lip curled slightly. "She is such a good business woman she ought to be able to get to the Berkshires from here."

"Walter seems enthralled," and Hazel laughed. "I wonder how Jack got him to leave her?"

They were on the road again, and Miss Robbins, the physician, the business woman, the chaperon, had stayed behind to take care of those who had been injured in the explosion. There were good doctors within call, but she simply would stay, and saw no reason why the girls should not go on alone. To her the idea of being obligated to them was not to be thought of when a matter like professional business came up. Of course, this was a general disappointment, for the girls would never have entrusted themselves to her patronage if they had not felt certain that she would keep her word with them. However, the fact was that they were on the road again, and Regina Robbins was happy on the sunny porch of the big hotel, incidentally attending to a cut or two on one man's face and a bad-looking burn on the arm of another.

Bess and Belle were driving along, "their faces as long as fiddles," as Cora said. The boys had taken the lead, and they were having their own trouble trying to convince Walter that Miss Robbins had "dumped" the girls, and that it was a "low-down trick."

The Whirlwind glided along apparently happy under the firm hand of its fair owner. The Flyaway seemed, too, to be glad of a chance to get away again, and as Bess threw in the third speed, according to commands from Jack, who was leading, the little silver machine darted away like an arrow freed from the bow.

The day was wonderfully clear after the rain, and even the sunshine had been polished up by the scouring of the mighty storm of late summer.

"I shouldn't care so much," Belle confided to her twin sister, "but when we get to Lenox alone, without a chaperon, what will people say?"

"Well, Tinkle, we have not got there yet. Maybe we may pick up a chaperon between this and that."

"If we only could! Where do we stop tonight?"

"Wherever we get."

So they sped on. Mile after mile was lapped up in the dust of the motors. Out through Connecticut, over the line into Massachusetts, and along the splendid roads that border the Housatonic River.

Houses were becoming scarcer and fewer; it was now largely a matter of woodlands and roads.

"We have to make time now," called Cora to the twins. "The boys say we should get to Pittsfield by evening."

"To Pittsfield! Why, that's——"

"About a hundred," called Cora again. "Look out for your shoes, and don't be reckless on the turns. Stripping your differential just now would be fatal."

"All right," responded Bess, "but mine is not the only car in the race."

"Thanks," called back Cora, "and now we will clear off. Good-by!"

The Whirlwind shot ahead. Jack's car was clear of the other—Walter's, and as the run had to be made against time it was best for each machine to have "room to look around it."

"Oh!" gasped Hazel, as Cora swerved around a sharp bend, "I don't fancy this sort of riding."

"But we have to get to a large town before night. It's all right. The roads are so clear."

On they flew. Only the shrieking of Jack's siren and the groaning of the deep horn on Walter's car gave messages to the girls.

Several miles were covered in silence, and then they came to a signboard. It told that the main road was closed, and that they must take to a side road—a highway that was fairly good, but much more lonely.

"I suppose we'll get back to the main road before a great while," said Cora.

"I hope so," returned Bess. "This looks dreadfully lonely, doesn't it?"

"Don't think about it," came from her sister.

On they went, the way becoming wilder each instant. Yet the road itself was fairly smooth, so that it was not necessary to slacken the speed of the cars.

"Something really smells hot," said Hazel. "Could anything ignite?"

"Not exactly," replied Cora, "but we don't want to get too hot. It makes trouble."

She slackened just a bit to make sure that Hazel's anxiety had no foundation in fact, for, indeed, the big machine was using its engine and gas to the utmost capacity.

Just ahead the glare of the Comet could be seen as it plunged into a deep turn in a deeper lined wood. Jack, in his Get-There, was after the first, and then the girls had difficulty even in getting a responding sound from the toots and the blasts which all were continually sounding.

"They are away ahead," said Bess. "I thought they had seen enough of getting too far away from us. How do we know but that we might meet the gypsies on this lonely road?"

"I wonder if it is late or early for motorists?" asked Cora of Hazel. "We haven't met a single party."

"Just happened so, I suppose," said Hazel. "Surely people out here must enjoy this sort of weather."

"Listen!"

Cora gave three sharp blasts on her horn, but no answer came. "The boys are getting too far ahead.

"I will have to accelerate——," she called.

She pressed down the pedal and bent over the wheel as if urging the machine to its utmost. Then there was jolt—a roar! a bang! Cora jammed on brakes.

"A shoe is gone!" she cried. "Exploded!"

Without the slightest warning a big tire overheated, had ripped clear off the front wheel, the inner tube exploded, and the car had almost gone into a ditch when Cora stopped it.

Bess had seen the trouble, and was able to halt her car far enough away to avoid a collision.

"Isn't that dreadful!" cried Cora, her face as white as the tie at her throat. "It ripped off just from speed!"

"Can't it be fixed?" asked Hazel, who now was out beside Cora.

"Oh, of course! but how and when? I have another shoe, but to get it on, and the boys, as usual, out of sight!"

She had pulled off her gloves and was looking at the split tire. It was marvelous that it should have come off so clean—simply peeled.

"And it's five o'clock," said Belle, with her usual unfortunate way of saying something to make things worse.

"But it isn't midnight," almost snapped Cora.

"Let's try to call the boys," suggested Belle. "Aren't they dreadful to get so far away?"

"Very rude," and Cora showed some sarcasm. "But the thing to do right now is not to wait for anybody, but to get to work. Bess, can you help me slip in a tube and put on a shoe?"

"I never have, but, of course, I'll try," and she, too, pulled off her gloves.

Cora quickly opened up the tool box, got out the jack, and then she unbuckled the shoe that was fast at the side of the Whirlwind.

"I always thought folks carried them to ornament the cars," said Hazel, with an attempt at good nature, "but it seems that a cobbler is the thing we ought to carry for an ornament. We really don't need him, but we do need new shoes."

"How long will it take?" asked Belle.

"There's no telling," replied Cora. "It isn't exactly like putting a belt on a sewing machine."

She handled the inner tube freely enough, and soon had it in the big rubber shoe, partly inflated.

"Easy as putting tape in a jelly bag," remarked Hazel.

"But we must get it on now and blow it up," said Cora. "Bess, get the pump."

The pump was gotten, after which, with much exertion, the shoe was on the rim, and then the blowing began. This was not so easily accomplished as had been the other parts of the mechanical operation. First Bess pumped, then Belle tried it. Hazel was sure she could do it, for she often blew up Paul's bicycle, but this tire would not blow full.

The girls were rapidly losing their complexions. Such strenuous efforts!

"Oh, that's hard enough," declared Bess, trying to push her pretty fingers into the rubber.

"Yes," answered Cora, pressing on the tire, which sank with the pressure, "it's about as hard as rice pudding!"

"How many pounds?" insisted Bess.

Cora looked at the gauge. "Sixty. I have got to have a full ninety for this car."

"Then I don't see how we are going to get it!"

Cora did not heed the discouragement. She was pumping now, and the shoe was becoming rigid. "If I get it a little harder I'll call it done!" she panted, "though we may ditch the car next time."



CHAPTER XIII

A DELAY AND A SCARE

It was an hour later when the boys came back. They had discovered the loss of the girls when they had gone so far ahead that it took some time to return. The race was too much for them. They were obliged to admit that, in its interest, they had forgotten the girls.

"If Miss Robbins had been along, I fancy Walter would not have become so engrossed in the race," said Belle maliciously.

"Well, Miss Robbins was not along," replied Walter, with equal meaning.

"And what's more, Miss Robbins will not be along," spoke Cora. "I have heard of all sorts of things being permissible in the business world, but this, from a young lady, seems to be——"

"The utmost," admitted Jack. "But, sis, you must make allowances. We would dump Miss Robbins in the mountains, and likely crawl home by train, while the hotel reputation will continue to reputate."

"Suppose we quit buzzing and get at the car," suggested Ed. "Seems, though, as if Cora had about fixed it up."

"I'm not so sure," said Cora eagerly. "I am afraid that there's something wrong other than the 'busted' tire. I was just about to look when you gentlemen returned. But will you please finish pumping first?"

Finally it was hard enough, and then Cora jumped into the car, while Jack cranked up. A noise that might have come from a distant sawmill rewarded the effort.

"A nut or a pin loose," suggested Walter, who now did what Jack called the "collar-button crawl" under the big car.

But that was only the beginning, and the end was that night came on and made faces at a very desolate party of young people, stalled miles from nowhere, with nothing but remorse of conscience to keep off the damp, night air.

Jack went around literally kicking himself, demanding to know whether they hadn't done the same thing before, and dumped those poor girls in a graveyard at midnight. When would boys learn that girls can't be trusted out of sight, and so, while the boys are supposed to be the girls' brothers, these same brothers must forego sport of the racing brand?

Jack really felt the situation keenly. There was no way out of it, the girls could not get to a town even in the able-bodied cars, for Cora would no more leave her Whirlwind there in the darkness than she would have left Bess or Belle. Then, when it was proposed that one of the boys stay to guard the machine, and the others of the party go along to some place, the objection of "no Miss Robbins" robbed the distracted young men of their last argument.

"We will stay together," announced Cora. "At any rate, that will be better than some of us going to a hotel, and all that sort of thing. We can bunk in the cars."

"Oh, in the woods!" almost shrieked Belle.

"Well, no, you might go up a tree," said Cora rather crossly.

"There's many a nest unseen——"

"Wallie, you quit. The unseen nest is not for yours. You are hereby appointed for guard duty!" and Ed snatched up a stout stick to serve as "arms" for the guard.

"I have a little something," admitted Jack, flashing a brand new revolver. "I have heard of the gypsy camps around these mountains, so I came prepared."

"Oh, those gypsies!" and Belle had another spasm. "I feel that something will happen tonight! Those dreadful gypsies!"

"We can lock you in the tonneau of Cora's car," suggested Ed, "and when the gypsies come they can't 'gyp' you. They may take all of us, but no power on earth, not even palm reading, can move that monster."

The idea that she really could be locked up in the car gave Belle some comfort, although Bess and Hazel were holding a most secret convention over under a tree, where the last rays of light lingered as day hurried along.

"Why did you speak about the gypsies?" Cora asked Jack, by way of reproof rather than question. "You know the girls go off in kinks when they think of the burglar."

"Well, I suppose I shouldn't. But the fact is, we might as well be prepared, for there are bands of our friends tied up around these hills. Fortune telling is a great business among summer idlers."

"Well, I hope we have seen the last of them. I'm going to stay in the open, in the Flyaway. I'd rather do it than be cooped up with the girls in the tonneau, and there will be room for Bess, Belle and Hazel inside the Whirlwind. It won't be so bad—a night in the wide open."

"Oh, we fellows don't mind it, but, sis, might not some cocoon drop in your hair in the night? We had better rig up some sort of hood."

"My own hood will do nicely, and I am almost dead from the exertion of that tire. I grant you, I will not lie awake listening for gypsies."

"Then we boys will take turns on the picket," said Ed. "You can really depend upon us this time, girls. One will be awake and watching every minute."

"Oh, I'm sure it's all right out here," replied Cora. "What would any one want in these woods at night?"

"Might want fishing tackle," answered Walter. "Yes, I agree with thee, Edward; it is up to us to stay up to-night."

With this positive assurance, the young ladies proceeded to make themselves comfortable in their novel quarters. Cora curled up in the Flyaway, and the Comet, with Ed and Jack "sitting up in a lying-down posture," as they expressed it, was placed just where the young men could hear the girls whisper should any gypsies appear, or rather be scented. The first man to do picket duty, Walter, was in the Get-There, directly out in the road, so that presently it seemed a night in the wide open might be a novelty rather than a misfortune.

Some time must have passed. Belle declared she was not asleep. Bess vowed she was still asleep. Hazel begged both girls to keep quiet, but the light of the gas lamps from the Get-There was bobbing about, and the flash of a new revolver was reflected in the night.

"What can be the matter?" sobbed Belle. "Oh, I knew we shouldn't stay in these dreadful woods."

"As if we could help it," complained her sister. "Belle, if you insist upon going on motor tours, why don't you try to get some sense?"

"All right, there!" called Jack, who now, with another headlight in hand, was looking under and about the Whirlwind.

"Yes! What's the matter?" answered and asked Bess.

"Nothing that we know of," replied Jack, "but Wallie thought he scented game, and we need something for breakfast."

"Goodness sakes! Likely a turtle or something," growled Bess, dropping her plump self down plumper than ever on the cushions.

"I don't believe it," objected Belle. "They wouldn't wake us up for a turtle—or something."

"Make it a moose then," suggested Hazel. "Moose are plenty in New England, they say."

"With the horns?" asked Belle.

"With and without," replied Hazel. "But if you don't mind, I'm going out to join in the hunt. I have always longed for a real, live hunt."

"Oh, please don't," begged Belle. "It might be a man!"

"No such luck. There's Cora with her lamp. They are certainly after something," and with this she opened the tonneau door and went out with the others into the wild, dark, lonely night.

"I distinctly saw him," she heard Jack say. "Now, keep your nerve. Cora, where is the little gun?"

"I've got it," she replied. "I feel better with it. You boys have two."

"What is it?" asked Hazel, now thoroughly alarmed.

"A man!" whispered Cora. "Walter saw him crawling around, and we are bound to find him. He is alone, that's sure, and there are seven of us."

"Oh!" gasped Hazel. "But isn't it dangerous?"

"A little, of course. But it would be worse to let sleeping dogs lie. It may be a harmless tramp—or a poor laborer—a woodsman."

At the same time she knew perfectly well that any character of either type she mentioned would not go crawling around under stalled motor cars in the Berkshire hills.



CHAPTER XIV

THE MIDNIGHT TOW

A more frightened set of girls than were our young friends that night could scarcely be imagined. Although Cora did tramp around after Ed and his lamp, with her pistol in her hand, she was trembling, and had good reason to be alarmed. As for Bess and Belle, they were, as Hazel said, "tied up in a knot" on the bottom of Cora's car, too terrified to cry. Hazel herself felt no inclination to explore on her own account, but was actually walking on Jack's heels, as he poked the motor lamp in and out of possible hiding places, seeking the mysterious shadow that had been seen to move and had been heard to rustle in the grass.

But he was not found—a big slouch hat being the only tangible clew unearthed to a real personality. And this Walter dug out of a hole near a rear wheel of the Whirlwind.

"Don't tell the girls," he whispered to Jack, "but here's his top-piece."

"Put it away—in the Comet. We might need it," said Jack, in the same low voice.

"Well, girls, of course you are frightened," began Ed. "What do you say to all crowding into the Whirlwind and talking it out the rest of the night? We could make noise enough to scare away a dozen tramps."

This idea was greeted with delight, even Bess and Belle venturing to poke their heads out of the tonneau door to beg the boys "all to come in."

No more thought of Miss Robbins! It was now a matter of doing the best they could to restore something of the girls' lost nerves. And Ed, Jack and Walter undertook the task with considerable more seriousness than it had occurred to the much-alarmed girls it might be necessary to give the matter.

All the girls asked for was protection—all the boys thought of giving was confidence.

"My poor, dear Whirlwind" sighed Cora, as Ed assisted her into the tonneau. "To think that you have made all this trouble!"

"No such thing," interrupted Walter gallantly. "It is up to us. We deserted you just to see who would make the hill in best time, and this serves us right."

Bess, Belle and Hazel found plenty of room on the broad-cushioned seat, while Jack decided that he wouldn't mind in the least sitting down on the floor beside Cora, who had the folding chair.

Ed and Walter took their places outside "on the box," and when the three other cars were lined up close the dark, dreary night under the trees, with the prospect of a man crawling around with malice aforethought, brightened up some. Even the moon peeked through the trees to make things look more pleasant, and to Belle company had never been so delightful before. She actually laughed at everything Jack said, and agreed that it would be fun to live in a motor houseboat.

Cora alone was silent. She pleaded fatigue, but Jack knew that his sister did not give in to fatigue so easily; he also knew that she had seen the gypsy's hat!

She lay with her head pillowed on her brother's shoulder and closed her eyes, feigning sleep.

It was the same little sister Jack often told stories to, and the same black head that now was so glad to rest where many other evenings it had rested, when the mother was out and the sister did not like to "go to bed all alone, please, Jackie dear!"

"It's a great thing to have a brother," blurted out Bess, in her ridiculous way, until Jack declared that he had another shoulder, and she might appropriate it if she wished to be a "sister" to him.

"I guess I am too nervous to motor at night," admitted Belle. "I think, after this trip, I will plan mine by daylight."

"But this was so planned," said Cora. "Whoever thought we would be stalled, that we would lose Miss Robbins, and that we would have to camp out all night in the Whirlwind?"

"Of course, whoever thought it?" agreed Jack, stroking the head on his shoulder.

"Do you suppose Walter and Ed are dead?" asked Cora.

"Not that, but sleeping," returned Jack. "If they die they will never forget it as long as they live. There is a sacred duty in standing picket duty."

"Oh, a light!" suddenly screamed Bess. "It's coming this way!"

"Steady, there," shouted Ed, in his clear, deep voice. "Pass to the left!" and he tooted the horn of the Whirlwind.

"A machine!" announced Jack, as he jumped up and peered through the wind shield.

"Oh! isn't that lovely?" gasped Belle, willing at once to abandon her company for the prospect of getting out of the woods.

By this time a big motor car had slowed up at the side of the other cars. The chauffeur alighted and, with all the chivalry of the road, asked what the trouble was. Leaving out the scare and the hat part, the boys soon told of their difficulty and the young ladies' plight, whereat an old gentleman, the only occupant of the car, insisted that the young ladies get in with him, and that his man, Benson, be allowed to tow the stalled car out of the hills. They decided to do this, agreeing that they had had enough of "camping out."

"What name? What name did you say, sir?" he asked Jack, at the same time kicking his many robes up into a corner to make all possible room ill his magnificent car.

"Kimball," replied Jack, "of Chelton, and the other names are——"

"That's enough, plenty," the gentleman declared heartily. "I knew Joseph Kimball, of Chelton, and I guess he was your father."

"Yes," replied Jack, astonished at thus meeting a family friend.

"Well, when he went to Chelton I located in New Hampshire; that's where I belong."

"Do you? That's where we are going—to the White Mountains, after a little stay in the Berkshires," finished Jack, as he handed Cora into the handsome car, and then likewise assisted Hazel and Belle.

"Well, I guess we can fix you up then," said the old gentleman, in that hearty manner that can never be mistaken for mere politeness. "I have a girl of my own. We are in the Berkshires now."

"I will be delighted to know——" then Cora stopped. She had not yet heard the gentleman's name.

"Betty Rand—that's my girl. She's Elizabeth, of course, but Betty's good enough for me. Get right in here, girlie," to Belle. "Got room enough?"

"Oh, yes, plenty, thank you," and Belle slipped down into the cushions with an audible sigh.

"Well, you can depend upon Benson. See that! He's got the car hitched already! Never saw a fellow like Benson," and Mr. Rand spread the robe over the knees of Belle and Cora, with whom he sat, while Hazel had taken the small chair. "Keep warm," he told her. "Night air out here is trickish. I always take plenty of robes along."

Hazel assured him that she had every comfort, and then they heard Ed toot the horn of the Flyaway, as he and Bess started off in the lead. Walter was in his Comet, and when Jack was sure that everything was in readiness for the Whirlwind to be towed after the big six-cylinder machine, he jumped into his Get-There, and presently the whole party was off again, going toward Lenox.

It was a wonderful relief—every one felt it—to be moving away from dread and darkness.

"I always come up by night from New York," said Mr. Rand. "The roads are clear, and it saves time. Besides, to-morrow is Betty's birthday, and I have to be home."

"Yes," said Cora politely. "We had no idea of traveling alone like this, but our chaperon——"

"Well, you've got one now," interrupted the man nicely, noticing Cora's embarrassment. "I often do it for Betty—she's only got me."

There was a catch in his voice this time, and while the three girls instantly felt that "the bars were down again," and that they really did have a chaperon in the person of this delightful gentleman, still it would have seemed rude to break the effect of his last remark.

"We are getting her up, all right," he said, referring to towing the Whirlwind. "Never saw the like of Benson."

"Isn't it splendid?" exclaimed Cora, looking back into the darkness and thus discerning the lamps of her car following. "It is a dreadful thing to be stalled."

"Can't be beat," agreed Mr. Rand. "We get it once in a while, though Benson is a wonder—knows when to stop without getting a blow-out."

"That's what we had," said Cora, "a blow-out."

"Girls speeding!" and he slapped his knees in good nature. "Now, Betty thinks she can't go unless the engine stutters, as she calls it. I declare, girls are worse than men these days! Speeding!"

Cora tried to tell something of the circumstances responsible for her speed, but he would take no excuse—it was ordinary speed, just like Betty's, he declared.

"And you lost your chaperon?" He said this with a delightful chuckle, evidently relishing the circumstances that threw the interesting young party into his company.

"Yes," spoke Belle, "there was a fire at the hotel, and she was a doctor. Of course, we didn't count when there were men to be bandaged up."

"A fire!" repeated Mr. Rand. "At a hotel! The Restover, I'm sure. Why, that is my hotel. I mean I am one of the owners, and on my way up I met the woman doctor. So she was your chaperon! Well, I declare! Now, that's what I call a coincidence. That young woman—let me see. She was nursing the head waiter. Ha, ha! a good fellow to nurse. Always keep in with the head waiter."

"Oh, he was that good-looking fellow, Cora," said Hazel. "Don't you remember how he soared around?"

"A bird, eh?" and Mr. Rand laughed again. "Well, say," and his voice went down into the intimate key, "I wouldn't be surprised if your chaperon gave up her business. I heard some remarks about how very devoted she was to that head waiter."

"Oh, Miss Robbins would never marry a waiter!" declared Belle. "Why, she's a practicing physician!"

"But sometimes the practice is hard and uncertain," Mr. Rand reminded them. "I shouldn't be surprised when I go back there to straighten up accounts to find the doctor and the waiter 'doing nicely.'"

"But how is the man we—that is—who went to the hospital?" asked Cora eagerly. "He was very badly hurt."

"Oh, Jim, wasn't it? Why, he is getting along! By crackie!" and he slapped his knee again, "I have it! It was you who took Jim to the hospital! Now, I see! A motor girl with black hair and a maroon machine! Now, I have, more than ever, reason to be your friend, Miss Kimball. Jim has been with me for years, and had he died as the result of an accident at Restover—well, I shouldn't have gotten over it easily."

"But some one had to take him," said Cora modestly.

"Oh, I know all about that. That's like your excuse for speeding, and it's like Betty again. Wait until she hears that you saved Jim."

"One would never know we were towing a car," intervened Hazel. "We sail along so beautifully."

"But you babies have been awake all night," said Mr. Rand suddenly. "Now, couldn't you just tuck in somehow and sleep a wink or two? You won't get a chance when you see Betty. She's a regular phonograph—friendship's her key."

"I am sleepy," confessed Cora.

"I'm tired," admitted Belle.

"And I'm dead," declared Hazel.

"Then it's settled. You are each to go to sleep instantly, and if those fellows blow that horn again, I won't let them in to Betty's party," and Mr. Rand, in his wonderful, fatherly way, seemed to tuck each girl into a perfectly comfortable bed. "Now sleep! No more——"

"Gypsies!" groaned Cora, but although he said not a word in reply, he knew perfectly well just what she meant.



CHAPTER XV

THE GYPSY'S WARNING

It was at Betty's party. And as Mr. Rand had told our friends, Betty was a wonderful girl—for being happy and making others happy.

Now, here it was less than a year from the time of her dear mother's death, and on her own birthday, of course, she would not have a party, but when Daddy came in with his arms full of company and bundles, as Betty put it, of course she turned right in and had an impromptu party—just to make Daddy happy.

It was an easy matter to gather in a few of the nearby cottagers, of whom there were many very pleasant samples, and so, when the evening following the midnight tow arrived, the party from Chelton found themselves rested and ready for the festivities. As usual, Walter was devoted to Betty. Jack liked her, Ed admired her, but Walter claimed her—that was his way. She was a pretty girl of rather an unusual type, accounted for, her father declared, by the fact that her mother was an Irish beauty, and gave to Betty that wonderful golden-red hair, the hazel eyes and the indescribable complexion that is said to come from generations of buttermilk.

And withal she was such a little flirt! How she did cling to Walter, make eyes at Ed and defy Jack, giving to each the peculiar attention that his special case most needed.

Belle and Bess found it necessary to take up with some very pleasant chaps from a nearby hotel, while Cora and Hazel made themselves agreeable with two friends of Mr. Rand's—boys from New York, who had many mutual acquaintances with Chelton folks and, therefore, could talk of other things than gears and gasoline.

Mr. Rand was on the side porch, and when the drawing-room conversation waited for the next remark, his voice might be heard in a very animated discussion. Cora sat near a French window, and she heard:

"But the hat! How did his particular hat get there?"

The answer of his friend was not audible.

"I tell you," went on the gentleman, "this thing has got to be watched. I don't like it!"

"Oh, Coral" chirped Belle. "Do sing the 'Gypsy's Warning.' We haven't heard it since the night——"

"Walter fished up a chaperon," added Jack, with a laugh.

"The 'Gypsy's Warning'!" repeated Betty.

"It's a very old song," explained Cora, "but we had to revive something, so we revived——"

"The gyp," finished Ed, getting up and fetching Cora's guitar from the tete in the corner. "Do sing it, Cora. This is such a gypsy land out here."

"Are there?" asked Bess, in sudden alarm.

"There are," said Ed mockingly. "There are gypsy land out here!"

"Oh, you know perfectly well what I meant," and Bess pursed her lips prettily.

"Course I do; if I didn't—land help me—I would need a map and a horoscope in my pocket every single minute."

"Come on, Cora, sing," pleaded Hazel. "Let them hear about our Warning."

"I'm afraid it's too late," objected Cora with a sly look at Betty and Walter. "We should have sent the warning on ahead of us."

She stood up to take the instrument from Ed's hands. She was near the French window again.

"I tell you," she heard Mr. Rand say, "these gypsy fellows will stoop to anything. And as for revenge—they say once a gypsy always a gypsy. Which means they will stick by each other——"

"Come on, Cora. We want the song. I remember my mother used to sing the 'Gypsy's Warning,' and she brought it right down to date—we never went near a camp," said Walter.

The threat of the old gypsy woman rang in Cora's ears. She could see her raise that brown finger and hear her say: "If you harm Salvo, harm shall be upon your head." Cora had testified against Salvo. A hat known to belong to a member of the tribe was later found at midnight under Cora's car, miles from the town where the robbery had been committed. Were they following her?

"Oh, really, I can't sing to-night," she protested rather lamely. "I have a cold."

The voices on the porch had ceased. Betty was claiming her father for some game. The evening had not been a great success.

"And to-morrow," faltered Walter, "we pass on. I wish we had decided to stay in the Berkshires, but of course the girls must make the White Mountains," and he fell back in his chair as if overwhelmed. "I fancy Bess is ambitious to climb Mount Washington."

"I possibly could—as well as the others," and Bess flushed at the mention of anything in the flesh-reducing line. "I have always been a pretty fair climber."

"Yes, that's right," called Jack. "I remember one time Bess climbed in the window at school. A lemon pie had been locked up inadvertently."

"But you ought to see more of Lenox," spoke Betty. "I do wish you would stay—for a few days at least."

"So do I," said Walter with flagrant honesty.

"But the season wanes," remarked Cora, "and we must keep to our itinerary. Now that my machine has been overhauled I anticipate a royal run. Betty, can't you come with us? Mr. Rand says you have been here all summer——"

"And too much is enough," declared the ensnared Walter. "Betty, if you would come we might mount Mount Washington."

"What do you say, papa?"

"Why, go, of course; it would be the very thing for you. And then, don't you see, I shouldn't have to give up my job as chaperon," and he clapped his hands on his knees and chuckled with a relish that all enjoyed.

Mr. Rand decided that he would go and take his gorgeous car, and the pretty, bright little Irish Betty! Why, it would be like starting all over again!

Hazel was fingering Cora's guitar. The chords of the "Gypsy's Warning" just floated through the room. Walter hummed, Jack almost whistled, Ed looked the part, but Cora!

Cora, brave, beautiful and capable—Cora jumped up and seemed to find some flowers in the vases absolutely absorbing. Cora did not take any part in rendering even the subdued "Gypsy's Warning."



CHAPTER XVI

THE DISAPPEARANCE

"But it is lonely, and I think we had best keep close together."

"But I want to——"

"Show Betty how beautiful it is to be lonely. Wallie Pennington, you are breaking your contract. No one was to get——"

"Personal. Oh, all right—take Betty," and Walter emitted a most unmusical brawl. "Of course, you and Ed are keeping the contract. You are doing as you please. Behold Ed now, carrying Cora over a pebble——"

"That's because Ed loves me," declared Jack, "and he is saving Cora's boots."

"All the same, I simply won't carry Bess. She might melt in my arms."

The young men were exploring the woods in the White Mountains. The girls were racing about in absolute delight over the ferns, while Mr. Rand, who had actually taken the "jaunt" from the hotel afoot, sat on a huge stone comparing notes with his muscles, and with the inactive years of discretion and indiscretion.

"They're like a lot of young animals," he was saying to any one near enough to hear, "and I—I am like something that really ought to know better."

"Just suppose," said Jack to Ed, "that a young deer should spring out just there where Belle and Hazel are sitting. What do you think would be the act?"

"Hazel would try to catch the deer, and Belle would go up a tree. Give me something harder."

"Well, then, suppose a tramp should come along the path and ask Betty for the thing that hangs around her neck. What would happen then?"

"Walter would get mixed up with his trampship. That, too, is easy."

"Cora says we have got to get back to earth in time for the Chelton fair. Now, I never thought that Cora cared about that sort of thing," Walter remarked.

"But it's the home town, and Cora knows her name is on some committee," replied Ed. "I guess we will get enough of these wilds in a week. At any rate, all Cora does care for is the car—she would rather motor than eat."

Betty had taken some wild berries to her father. "I say, sis," he pleaded, "can't we get back? I am stiffening, and you may all have to get together and carry me."

"Are you so tired? Poor dad! I didn't think the walk was too much. But you do feel it!" and she sat down on a soft clump of grass at his feet. "Well, as soon as the girls get their ferns and things they want to take home for specimens, we will start back. If you really are tired, we could get a carriage at the foot of the hill."

"And have you youngsters laugh at me! Never! I would die walking first," and Mr. Rand stretched himself to show how near death he really was. "Now, I tell you, we will all take the bus back. That would be more like it."

This suggestion was rapidly spread among the woodland party, and when the girls did finally consent to desert the growing things and leave a "speck of something for the rabbits to eat," as Jack put it, the start for the hotel was made.

At the foot of the hill, or the opening of the mountain path, an old woman, a gypsy, stood with the inevitable basket on her arm.

"Tell your fortune, lady? Tell you the truth," she called, and actually put her hand out to stop Cora as she was passing. "Tell it for a quarter."

"Take a basketful," suggested Ed, sotto voce. "I would like to know what's going to become of Wallie when we get back to Chelton."

As usual, Walter was helping Betty, who, with her light laugh and equally light step, was making her way over the last stones of the wood way.

"Tell your fortune——"

"Oh, no," called back Mr. Rand, who had stopped to see what was delaying the party. "We don't need to be told. Here woman," and he threw back a coin, "take this and buy a—new shawl."

All this time the woman was standing directly in Cora's way. The path was very narrow, and on either side was close brushwood. Cora stepped in the bushes in order to get out to the road, and as she did she stumbled and fell.

In an instant Ed had caught her up, but not before the old woman had peered deep into Cora's face, had actually moved her scarf as if looking for some mark of recognition.

"I'll help her up," the woman exclaimed, when she saw that Ed was angry enough to thrust her to the edge of the pathway. "I see a fine fortune in her eyes. They are black, her hair is black, and she has the appearance of the girl who runs an automobile. Oh, yes, I remember!" and she now turned away satisfied. "These girls ride much. But she—she is their leader!"

"Oh, come," whispered Belle. "I am so frightened. That is one of the gypsies from the beach camp."

Cora had regained her feet, and with a bruised hand was now passing along with the others.

"We might have had a couple of quarts of fortune out of that basket just as well as not," insisted Jack. "I never saw anything so handy."

"Oh, those gypsies are a pest," declared Mr. Rand. "But I am just superstitious enough not to want to offend any of them. I claim to be a first-class chaperon—first-class!"

"Are you hurt, Cora?" asked Bess, seeing that Cora was pressing her hand to her lips.

"Only scratched from the brush," and she winced. "Those berry bushes seem to have a grudge against me."

"But the old Gypsy?" asked Bess, as the two girls stood close together.

"Oh, I didn't mind her rant," replied Cora. "They always have something wonderful to tell one."

"I wish they would not cross our path so often," went on the other girl. "Seems to me they have been the one drawback of our entire trip."

"Let us hope that they will now be satisfied," said Cora with that indefinite manner which so often conveys a stronger meaning than might have been intended.

Both girls sighed. Then they joined the others, while the old gypsy woman looked after them sharply.

Ed was hailing the driver of the bus—"Silent Bill," they called him, because he was never known to keep still, not even at his grandmother's funeral. Silent Bill lost no time in getting his horses headed right, also in starting out to describe the wonders and beauties of the White Mountains.

It was fun to take the bus ride, and no one was more pleased at the prospect than was Mr. Rand.

"Nothing like sitting down square," he declared. "Why young folks always want to walk themselves into the grave is more than I pretend to understand."

"My, but that old gypsy woman did frighten me," said Belle to Hazel. "I never saw such a look as she gave Cora! I honestly thought she was going to drop. Maybe she——"

"Blew powder into her eyes. The same thought came to me," replied Hazel. "Well, I hope we won't see any more gypsies until we get within police precincts. We have had enough of them here."

Then Silent Bill called out something about how the air in those peaks would make a dead man well. "Look at them peaks!" he insisted. "That's what fetches folks up here every summer."

"They fetched me down," remarked Mr. Rand, "but then I never did care for peaks."

"Now, Mr. Rand," corrected Cora, "didn't you take a peek into my auto the night it broke down? Seems to me there are peeks and peaks——"

Amid laughter they rode along, enjoying the splendid scenery and bracing air, but the gypsy's face was haunting Cora.

That evening there was to be a hop at the hotel. As many of the patrons were soon leaving for home, it was expected that the affair would be entered into with all the energy that could be summoned from the last of the season. There would not be another big affair until the next summer, so all must "make hay" while the lights held out.

Our friends had some trouble in finding just the correct wearing things in the small auto trunks, but pretty girls can so safely depend upon youth and good manners that simple frocks were pressed literally and physically for the occasion, whereas many of the all-season guests at the Tip-Top were not so self-reliant. Motor-made complexions, and the eyes that go with that peculiar form of beauty, formed a combination beyond dispute.

Cora wore her pale yellow poplin, Betty was in all white, of course; Bess looked like an apple blossom in something pinkish, and Belle was the evening star in her dainty blue. Hazel "had on" a light green affair. We say "had on," for that's the way Hazel had of wearing things—she hated the bother of fixing up.

The young men were not expected to have evening "togs" in their runabout traps, but they did have some really good-looking, fresh, summer flannels that made them appear just as well dressed and much better looking than some of the "swells" in their regular dress suits.

"What a wonderful time!" exclaimed Betty. "I never thought we could have such a jolly good time at a regular hotel affair."

"Why?" asked Hazel, wondering.

"Because there are so many kinds of people that——"

"We are all chorus, and no spot light?" interrupted Walter mischievously. "But we might put you up on the window sill."

"Indeed!" and the little lady flounced off. "Now you may fill in that girl's card over there—the red-headed one. She has been looking at you most all evening, and I have promised at least four dances."

Walter looked as if he would fall at Betty's feet if there had been sufficient room.

"Betty! Betty!" he begged. "If you do not give me the 'Yale' I shall leave the ballroom instanter."

"Oh, if you really want it," agreed Betty, and off they went.

Bess was soon "puffed out" with the vigorous dance. She was with Jack.

"Let's sit it out," she suggested. "I seem to be all out of breath."

"Certainly," agreed Jack. "But couldn't I get some for you, or send you some?"

"Some what?"

"Breath, wasn't that what you wanted? Here is a splendid place for a breathing spell."

Bess laughed and sat down with her partner.

"There are all sorts of ways to dance," she remarked as the "red-headed" girl, who had eyes for Walter, stepped on her toes in passing.

"Those girls from the Breakwater seem to have spite against us," remarked Jack. "That is the second time they have stepped on our toes."

"And she is no featherweight," answered Bess, frowning.

"Strange thing that good clothes cannot cover bad manners," went on Jack, who was plainly annoyed. "Let us take the other bench. She can't possibly reach us in the alcove."

Cora was just gliding by.

"Lazy," she called lightly. "You are missing the best dance."

"I'm tired," replied Bess. "Besides we want to watch you."

At this Ed, who was Cora's partner, gave a wonderful swirl to show just how beautifully he and Cora could do the "Yale Rush."

"Cora is such a good dancer," Bess whispered to Jack, "but then Cora is good at most everything." There was no sarcasm in her tone.

"Oh yes, for a little sister she is all right," agreed the young man. "She might be worse."

"Oh," exclaimed Bess suddenly. "I saw such a face at that window!"

"Plenty of faces around here to-night," observed Jack lightly.

"But that—oh! let us go away from here. I am nervous!"

"Certainly," and Jack took her arm. "Now if that were Belle," he proceeded calmly, and then paused.

Bess was actually trembling when they crossed to the stairway, but she soon recovered her composure.

She said nothing more about the face she had seen peering through the window and tried to forget it, as the dance went on.

After the "Paul Jones," a feature of the Tip-Top affairs, had been danced, every one wanted to cool off or down, according to the temperature desired. Cora was with Ed. They had drifted out on a side porch. Without any preamble one of the waiters touched Ed on the arm and told him there was a message for him waiting in the office.

"How do you know it's for me?" asked Ed, astonished.

"You are with the motor girls, aren't you?" replied the man, as if that were an explanation.

"I'll take you back to the others," said Ed to Cora. "I may as well see what it is."

"Oh, run along. It may be something urgent," suggested Cora. "I can slip back into the dance room when I want to, or I can wait here. You won't be long."

Ed followed the waiter indoors, then went into the office as he directed. He was not absent more than ten minutes, but when he returned to the porch Cora was gone!



CHAPTER XVII

MISSING

"I left her here ten minutes ago!" gasped Ed, trembling with excitement, as he related the news.

"She must have gone inside," replied Jack, equally alarmed. "We must look before we tell the others."

"No, give the alarm first, and look afterward," insisted Ed. "The thing that counts is to find her; people's nerves may rest afterwards. I think we had best call the hotel manager. That message sent me was a fake. It was an envelope addressed to me, and contained nothing but a blank paper. It was a game to get me away from Cora!"

"Perhaps you are right. But I do hate to alarm every one. I know that Cora would feel that way herself. What's this?" and Jack stooped to the porch floor. "Her fan!"

Ed almost snatched the trinket from Jack's hand. "The chain is broken," he said, "and she had it on when I left her. I remember how she dropped the fan to her side and it hung there."

Here was a new proof of something very wrong—the chain was broken in two places.

"Don't let us waste a moment," begged Ed, starting for the hotel office. "I will speak with the manager first."

Jack felt as if something was gripping at his heart. Cora gone! Could it be possible that anything had really happened to her? Could she have been kidnapped? No, she must be somewhere with some of the girls.

He followed Ed mechanically into the office. The manager was at the desk looking over the register.

"A young lady has just disappeared from the west-end porch," began Ed, rather awkwardly, "and I fear that something strange has happened to her. I was called in here by this fake message"—he produced a slip of blank paper—"and while I was in here she disappeared."

"No one else gone?" asked the manager with a questioning smile.

"Why, no," replied Ed indignantly. "I was with Miss Kimball almost up to the moment she disappeared."

Jack stepped forward. "I know that my sister would not give us one moment's anxiety were it in her power to avoid it," he said. "She is the most thoughtful girl in the world."

The manager was looking at the envelope Ed held. "Who did you say told you about this?" he asked of Ed.

"A waiter."

"Just come along with me, and we will see the waiters and kitchen men before we disturb the guests," said the manager.

They passed through the halls, where knots of the guests were strolling about passing the time between the dances—all apparently happy and contented. But Jack and Ed! What would be the outcome of their anxiety?

"This way," said the hotel proprietor. "Let me see, you are——" he paused suggestively.

"My name is Foster, and this is Mr. Kimball," said Ed.

In the kitchen they found everything in confusion. The chef had lined up every man in the department, and he was questioning them.

"What's this?" asked Mr. Blake, the proprietor.

"Some one has been in here, or some one here has made away with a lot of the silver and with money from the men's pockets," replied the chef indignantly. "We have got to find out who is the culprit. I won't stand for that sort of thing."

"Certainly not," Mr. Blake assured him, "but perhaps we can help you. Mr. Foster, will you kindly pick out the man who told you about that message?"

The men stood up. Ed scrutinized each carefully.

"None of these," he said finally.

"Are you sure every one is here, Max?" asked Mr. Blake.

"Every one, sir; even the last man I hired, who has never had an apron on yet."

"Could it be any one from the outside?" faltered Jack.

"No one could get in here and manage to make his way through——"

"Excuse me, sir," said a very blond young waiter, "but I think a stranger has been in here. My locker was broken open and my apron—one of the best—is gone."

"Is that so?" spoke Mr. Blake sharply. "Then we have no time to spare. The young lady——"

"Oh, don't say it," cried Jack. "Cora kidnapped!"

"Jack, old boy, be brave," whispered Ed, patting him on the shoulder. "Wherever Cora is, the gods are with her!"

"We must first institute a thorough search," declared Mr. Blake. "You men form an outside posse. Be quick. Search every inch of the grounds. Max, no more kitchen duty to-night. Here, Ben, you ring the hall bell. That will bring the porters together. Then, Dave"—to a handsome young Englishman—"I put you in charge. That young lady must be found tonight."

Ed and Jack exchanged glances. Would she really be found? Oh, how terrible it all seemed!

"I must speak with Mr. Rand," said Jack. "Ed, you tell the girls."

All that had been gayety and gladness was instantly turned into consternation and confusion. A young lady lured away from the Tip-Top! And the hotel crowded with guests!

Belle was obliged to call for a doctor. Nor was it any case of imagined nerves. The excitement of the big ball had been enough, the disappearance of Cora was more than her weak heart could stand. Bess tried to be brave, but to lose Cora! Then she recalled the face at the window.

Hazel and Betty waited for nothing, but took up a lantern and started out to search. If she had fallen down some place! Oh, if they could only make her hear them!

"Here, porter," called Mr. Rand, when he had heard all the details that could be given, "get me a donkey—a good, lively donkey. I can manage one of the little beasts better than I can a horse. I used to ride one in Egypt. I'll go over the hills if it is midnight."

"Oh, don't, Mr. Rand," begged Jack. "You are not strong enough to go over the mountains that way."

"I am not, eh! Well, young man, I'll show you!" and he was already waiting for the donkey to be brought up from the hotel stables. "Nothing like a good donkey for a thing that has to be done."

But it was such a wild wilderness—the sort chosen just on that account for hotel purposes. And after the brilliancy of the ballroom it did seem so very dark out of doors.

"This way, Hazel," said Betty courageously. "I know the loneliest spot. Maybe she has been stolen, and might be hidden away in that hollow."

"But if we go there alone——"

"I'm not afraid," and Betty clutched her light stick. "If I found her, they would hear me scream all the way to—Portland!"

Men were searching all over the grounds. Every possible sort of outdoor lantern had been pressed into service, and the glare of searchlights flickered from place to place like big fireflies.

It was terrible—everything dreadful was being imagined. Only Ed, Walter and Jack tried to see a possibility of some mistake—of some reasonable explanation.

It was exciting at first, that strange, dark hunt, but it soon became dreary, dull and desolate.

Hazel and Betty gave up to have a good cry. Jack and Ed insisted upon following Mr. Rand on horses, making their way over the mountain roads and continually calling Cora.

Walter followed the advice of the hotel proprietor, and went to notify the drivers of a stage line, which took passengers on at the Point.

But how suddenly all had been thrown into a panic of fear at the loss of Cora! Not a girl to play pranks, in spite of some whispers about the hotel, those most concerned knew that Cora Kimball was at least being held a prisoner against her will somewhere; by whom, or with whom, no one could conjecture.

What really had become of daring, dashing Cora Kimball?



CHAPTER XVIII

KIDNAPPED

"Oh! Where am I?"

"Hush! You are safe! But keep very quiet."

Then Cora forgot—something smelled so strong, and she felt so sleepy.

"We are almost there!"

"But see the lights!"

"They will never turn into the gully!"

"If they do——"

"I'll——"

"Hush!"

"She is a strong girl!"

"So much the better. Give her a drink."

"I don't like it."

"You don't have to."

"Do you know what they do now with kidnappers?"

"She's no kid."

"But it's just the same."

"Hold your tongue. You have given me more bother than she has."

"Salvo deserved what he got."

"You deserve something, too," and the older woman, speaking to a young girl, gave the latter a blow with a whip. The girl winced, and showed her white teeth. She would some day break away from Mother Hull.

They were riding in a gypsy wagon through the mountains, and it was one hour after Cora Kimball had been taken away from the porch of the Tip-Top. The drivers of the wagon were the most desperate members of the North Woods gypsy clan, and they had not the slightest fear that the searchers, who were actually almost flashing their lights in to the very wagon that bore Cora away, could ever discover her whereabouts.

It was close and ill-smelling in that van. Cora was not altogether unconscious, and she turned uneasily on the bundle of straw deep in the bottom of the big wagon.

"She is waking," said the girl presently.

"She can now, if she's a mind to. We are in Dusky Hollow."

"I won't be around when she does awake. I don't like it."

"If you say any more, I'll give you a dose. Maybe you—want—to go—to sleep."

"When I want to I shall," and the black eyes flashed in the darkness. "We did not promise to——"

"Shut up!" and again that whip rang like the whisper of some frightened tree.

"Oh, stop!" yelled the girl, "or I shall——"

"Oh, no, you—won't. You just hold—your tongue."

The horses shied, and the wagon skidded. Were they held up?

"Right there, Sam," ordered the driver. "Easy—steady, Ned. Pull over here."

The wagons moved forward again, and the women felt that the possible danger of discovery had passed.

"Keep quiet in there," called a rough voice from the seat. "These woods are thick with trailers."

For some time no one within the van spoke. Then Cora turned, and the woman wearing the thick hood clapped something over Cora's nose.

"Oh, don't! She has had enough. Let her at least live," begged the younger woman, actually fanning Cora's white face with her own soiled handkerchief.

The night seemed blacker and darker at each turn. Shouts from the searchers occasionally reached the ears of those within the wagon, and once Mr. Rand on his donkey might have seen them but for the trickery of the driver, who pulled his horses into some shadowy bushes and waited for the searchers to pass.

The young gypsy woman peered down into Cora's face.

"She's pretty," she said, with some sympathy.

"Well, by the time she's out perhaps she won't be so pretty," sneered the older woman. "I swore revenge for Salvo, and I'll have it."

"Oh, you and Salvo! Seems to me a man ought to be able——"

"You cat! Do you want to go back to the cave?"

The girl was silent again.

"Where—am I? Jack! Jack!" Cora moaned.

"Here! Don't you dare give her another drop of that stuff, or I'll—squeal!"

The old woman stopped, and in the darkness of the wagon Mother Hull felt, rather than saw, that the younger one would do as she threatened. She might shout! Then those searching the woods would hear.

"We will soon be there. Then she may call for Jack until her throat is sore!" muttered the hag.

Cora tossed on her bed of straw. The chloroform kept her quiet, but she knew and felt that she was being borne away somewhere into that dark and lonely night. She could remember now how Ed had gone inside the hotel, and he had not come back! He would be back presently, and yes, she would try to sleep until he returned!

She moaned and tried to call, but her voice was like that strange struggle of sound that comes in nightmare. It means nothing except to the sleeper.

"She's choking," said the gypsy girl.

"Let her," replied Mother Hull. "We can dump her easily here."

"You—hag!" almost screamed the girl. "I will shout if you don't give her air."

"Here! here!" called a voice from the seat. "If you two can't keep quiet, you know what we can do!"

"She's choking!" insisted the girl.

"Let her!" mocked the man.

"I—won't. Help! Help!" yelled the girl, and as she did the light of a powerful automobile lamp was directed into the gypsy wagon!

"There they are!" could be heard plainly.

"Where?" asked the anxious ones.

"In the gulch! Head them off! I saw a wagon!"

Quicker than any one save a mountaineer knew how to swing around, that wagon swerved, turned and was again lost in the darkness.

"Thought they had us!" called the man from the seat. "Lena, you will pay for this!"



CHAPTER XIX

THE DEN OF THE GYPSY QUEEN

Cora opened her eyes. Standing over her was a woman—or was it a dream? A woman with flowing hair, beautiful, dark eyes, a band of gold like a crown about her head, and shimmering, dazzling stuff on her gown. Was Cora really awake?

"Well," said the figure, "you are not bad-looking."

"Oh, I am so—sick," moaned Cora.

"I'll ring for something. Would you take wine?"

"No, thank you; water," murmured Cora.

The moments were becoming more real to Cora, but with consciousness came that awful sickness and that dizziness. She looked at the woman in the flowing red robes. Who could she be? Surely she was beautiful, and her face was kind and her manner sweet.

The woman pulled a small cord, and presently a girl appeared to answer.

"What, madam?" asked the girl.

"Some limewater and some milk. And for me, some new cigarettes. Those Sam brought I could not use. You will find my key in my dressing table."

She turned to Cora as the girl left. "You may have anything you want," she said, "and you need not worry. No harm will come to you. I rather think we shall be great friends."

She sat down on some soft cushions on the floor.

Then Cora noticed that her own resting place was also on the floor—a sort of flat couch—soft, but smelling so strongly of some strange odor. Was it smoke or perfume?

"Do you mind if I smoke?" asked the woman. "I am Helka, the gypsy queen. That is, they call me that, although I am really Lillian, and I never had any fancy for this queening." She smiled bitterly. The girl entered again with a tray and a small silver case. "The water is for my friend," said the queen, and the girl walked over to Cora. "Do you think you are strong enough to take milk? Perhaps you would like lime in it."

"Thank you very much," murmured Cora, "but I am very sick, and I have never been ill before."

"It is the chloroform. It is sickish stuff, and Sam said you had to have a big dose."

"Chloroform!"

"Yes, don't you know? Don't you remember anything?"

"Yes, I was on the hotel porch with Ed."

"With Ed? I wish they had kidnapped Ed, although you are very nice, and when I heard them putting you in the dark room, where we put the bad gypsy girls, I insisted upon them bringing you right here. I had some trouble, Sam is a rough one, but I conquered. And let me tell you something." She stooped very low and whispered, "Trust me! Don't ask any questions when the girls are around. You may have everything but freedom!"

"Am I a prisoner?"

"Don't you remember the gypsy's warning? Didn't Mother Hull warn you not to go against Salvo?"

"The robber?"

"Hush! They are listening at that door, and I want you to stay with me. Are you very tired?" She was lighting a cigarette. "I would play something for you. Do you like music?"

"Sometimes," said Cora, "but I am afraid I am going to cry——"

"That's the reason I want to make some noise. They won't come in here, and they won't know you are crying. We must make them think you like it here."

Cora turned and buried her face in the cushions. She realized that she had been abducted, and was being held a prisoner in this strange place. But she must—she felt she must—do as the woman told her. Just a few tears from sheer nervousness, then she would be brave.

"Don't you ever smoke?" asked the queen. "I should die or run the risk of the dogs except for my cigarettes."

"The risk——"

"Hush! Yes, they have dreadful dogs. I, too, am," she whispered, "a prisoner. I will tell you about it later."

She picked up an instrument and fingered it. It seemed like the harp, but it was not much larger than a guitar. The chords were very sweet, very deep and melodious. She was a skilled musician; even in her distress Cora could not fail to notice that.

"I haven't any new music," said the queen. "They promised to fetch me some, but this trouble has kept the whole band busy. Now, how do you like this?" She swept her white fingers over the strings like some fairy playing with a wind-harp. "That is my favorite composition."

"Do you compose?"

"Oh, yes, it gives me something to do, and I never could endure painting or sewing, so I work out pretty tunes and put them on paper. Sometimes they send them to the printers for me."

"Do you never leave here? Am I in America?" asked Cora.

"Bless you, yes, you are in America; but no, to the other question. I have never left this house or the grounds since I came to America."

"From——"

"England. You see, I am not a noble gypsy, for I live in a house and have sat on chairs, although they don't like it. This house is an old mansion in the White Mountains."

"It is your home?" asked Cora timidly.

"It ought to be. They bought it with my mother's money."

Cora sipped the water, then, feeling weak, she took a mouthful of the milk. Every moment she was becoming stronger. Every moment the strange scene around her was exciting her interest more fully.

"What time is it?" she asked wearily.

"Have you no idea?"

"Is it morning?"

"Almost."

"And you are not in bed?"

"Oh, I sleep when I feel like it. You see, I have nothing else to do."

Cora wondered. Nothing to do?

"Besides, we were waiting up for you, and I could not go to sleep until you came."

"You expected me?"

"For days. We knew you were in the mountains."

"How?" asked Cora.

"Because one of our men followed you. He said you almost caught him."

Cora vaguely remembered the man under the auto when they had been stalled in the hills. That must have been the fellow.

"My friends," stammered Cora, "my brother will be ill of fright, and my mother——"

"Now, my dear," said the queen, "if you will only trust me, I shall do all I can for you. I might even get word to your brother. I love brothers. Once I had one."

"Is he dead?" asked Cora kindly.

"I do not know. You see, I was once a very silly girl. Would you believe it? I am twenty-five years old!"

"I thought you young, but that is not old."

"Ages. But some day—who can tell what you and I may do?"

In making this remark she mumbled and hissed so that no one, whose eyes were not upon her at the moment she spoke, could have understood her.

Cora took courage. Perhaps she could help this strange creature. Perhaps, after all, the imprisonment might lead to something of benefit.

"I could sleep, if you would like to," said Cora, for her eyes were strangely heavy and her head ached.

"When I finish my cigarette. You see, I am quite dissipated."

She was the picture of luxurious ease—not of dissipation—and as Cora looked at her she was reminded of those highly colored pictures of Cleopatra.

It was, indeed, a strange imprisonment, but Cora was passing through a strange experience. Who could tell what would be the end of it all?

Cora's heart was beating wildly. She could not sleep, although her eyes were so heavy, and her head ached fiercely. The reaction from that powerful drug was setting in, and with that condition came all the protests of an outraged nature. She tossed on her couch. The gypsy queen heard her.

"What is it?" she asked. "Can you not sleep?"

"I don't know," Cora stammered in reply. "I wonder why they took me?"

"You were to appear against Salvo at his trial, I understood. It was necessary to stop you. Perhaps that is one reason," said the gypsy. "But try to sleep."

For some moments there was silence, and Cora dozed off. Suddenly she awoke with a wild start.

"Oh!" she screamed. "Let me go! Jack! Jack!"

"Hush!" whispered the gypsy. "It would not be safe for them to hear you." She pressed her hand to the forehead of the delirious girl. "You must have had a nightmare."

Cora sighed. Then it was not a dream, it was real! She was still a captive.

"Oh, I cannot help it," she sobbed. "If only I could die!" Then she stopped and touched the gentle hand that was stroking her brow. "You must not mind what I say to-night. It has all been so terrible," she finished.

"But I like you, and will be your friend," assured the voice as the other leaned so closely toward her. "Yet, I cannot blame you for suffering. It is only natural. Let me give you some mineral water. That may soothe your nerves."

The light was turned higher, and the form in the white robe flitted over to a cabinet. Cora could see that this gypsy wore a thin, silky robe. It was as white as snow, and in it the young woman looked some living statue.

"I am giving you a great deal of trouble," Cora murmured. "I hope I will be able to repay you some day."

"Oh, as for that, I am glad to have something to do. I have always read of the glory of nursing. Now I may try it. I am very vain and selfish. All I do I do for my own glory. If you are better, and I have made you so, I will be quite satisfied."

She poured the liquid into a glass, and handed it to the sick girl.

"Thank you," whispered Cora. "Now I will sleep. I was only dreaming when I called out."

"They say I have clairvoyant power. I shall put you to sleep."

The gypsy sat down beside Cora. Without touching her face she was passing her hands before Cora's eyes. The latter wondered if this might not be unsafe. Suppose the gypsy should hypnotize her into sleep and that she might not be able to awaken? Yet the sensation was so soothing! Cora thought, then stopped thinking. Sleep was coming almost as it had come when the man seized her.

Drowsy, delightfully drowsy! Then sleep!



CHAPTER XX

CORA AND HELKA

"What a wonderful morning! It makes me think of the Far East," said the gypsy queen.

"Have you been there?" asked Cora politely.

"Yes, I have been many places," replied Helka, "and to-day I will have a chance to tell you some queer stories about myself. I have a lover."

"Then you are content here? You are not lonely?"

"But I dare not own him as a lover; he is not a gypsy."

"This is America. You should be free."

"Yes," and she sighed. "I wonder shall I ever be able to get away!"

"Shall I?"

How strange! Two such beautiful young women prisoners in the heart of the White Mountains!

Cora repeated her question.

"Perhaps," answered Helka. "You see, they might fear punishment if you escaped; with me it would be—my punishment."

"But what shall I do?" sighed Cora. "Do you really think they intend to keep me here?"

"Is this not a pleasant place?"

"It is indeed—with you. And I am glad that, bad as it is, I have had a chance to know you. I feel some day that I shall have a chance to help you."

"You are a cheerful girl. I was afraid you would put in all your time crying. Then they would take you away."

"No use to cry," replied Cora, as brightly as she could. "Of course, it is dreadful. But, at least, I am not being abused."

"Nor shall you be. The gypsies are not cruel; they are merely revengeful. I think I like them because they are my truest friends in all the whole, wide world."

A tap at the door stopped the conversation. Then a girl entered. She was the one who had been in the van with Cora!

She looked keenly at the captive and smiled.

"Do you wish anything?" she asked of the queen.

"Yes, breakfast to-day must be double. You see, Lena, I have a friend."

"Yes, I see. I am glad she is better."

"Thank you," said Cora, but, of course, she had no way of knowing how this girl had tried to befriend her in the gypsy wagon.

"We have some splendid berries. I picked them before the sun touched them," said Lena. "And fresh milk; also toast, and what else?"

"We will leave it to you, Lena. I know Sam went to market."

"Yes, and will the young lady like some of your robes? I thought that dress might not suit for daylight."

Cora was still wearing her handsome yellow gown that she had worn at the Tip-Top ball. It did look strange in the bright, early morning sunshine.

"Would you?" asked Helka of Cora. "I have a good bathroom, and there is plenty of water." She smiled and showed that wonderful set of teeth. Cora thought she had never before seen such human pearls.

"It is very kind of you," and Cora sighed. "If I must stay I suppose I may as well be practical about it."

"Oh, yes," Lena ventured. "They all like you, and it will be so much better not to give any trouble."

"You see, Lena knows," said the queen. "Yes, Lena, get out something pretty, and Miss——"

"Cora," supplied the prisoner.

"Cora? What an odd name! But it suits you. There is so much coral in your cheeks. Yes, Miss Cora must wear my English robe—the one with the silver crown."

To dress in the robes of a gypsy queen! If only this were a play, and not so tragically real!

But the thought was not comforting. It meant imprisonment. Cora had determined to be brave, but it was hard. Yet she must hope that something unexpected would happen to rescue her.

"Lena is my maid," explained Helka. "I tell her more than any of the others. And she fetches my letters secretly. Have you not one for me today, Lena?"

The girl slipped her hand in her blouse and produced a paper. The queen grasped it eagerly. "Oh, yes," she said, "I knew he would write. Good David!" and she tore open the envelope. Cora watched her face and guessed that the missive was from the lover. Lena went out to bring the breakfast things.

"If only I could go out and meet him!" said the queen, finishing the letter. "I would run away and marry him. He has been so good to wait so long. Just think! He has followed me from England!"

"And you never meet him?"

"Not since they suspect. It was then they bought the two fierce dogs. I would never dare pass them. Sometimes they ask me to take a ride in the big wagon, but I never could ride in that. You see, I am not all a gypsy. My father was a sort of Polish nobleman and my mother was part English. She became interested in the great question of the poor, and so left society for this—the free life. My father was also a reformer, and they were married twice—to make sure. It is my father's money that keeps me like this, and, of course, the tribe does not want to lose me."

"And this man David?"

"I met him when I rode like a queen in an open chariot in a procession. That is, he saw me, and, like the queens in the old stories, he managed to get a note to me. Then I had him come to the park we were quartered in. And since then—but it does seem so long!"

"Could not Lena take a letter for me?" asked Cora timidly.

"Oh, no! They would punish her very severely if she interfered in your case. You see, Salvo must be avenged and released from jail. I always hated Salvo!"

Cora was silent. Presently the girl returned and placed the linen tablecloth on the floor. Following her came the other girl, with a tray of things. It was strange to see them set the table on the floor, but Cora remembered that this was a custom of the wanderers. When the breakfast had been arranged, the queen slipped down beside her coffee like a creature devoid of bones.

She was very graceful and agile—like some animal of the forest. Cora took her place, with limbs crossed, and felt like a Turk. But the repast was not uninviting. The berries were fresh, and the milk was in a clean bowl; in fact, everything showed that the queen's money had bought the service.

They talked and ate. Helka was very gay, the letter must have contained cheering news, and Cora was reminded how much she would have loved to have had a single word from one of her dear ones. But she must hope and wait.

"Do take some water cress," pressed the strange hostess, possibly noting that Cora ate little. "I think this cress in America is one of your real luxuries. We have never before camped at a place where it could be gathered fresh from the spring." Daintily she laid some on the green salad on a thin slice of the fresh bread, and after offering the salt and pepper, placed the really "civilized" sandwich on the small plate beside Cora. "There is just one thing I should love to go into the world for," said the queen. "I would love to have my meals at a hotel. I am savagely fond of eating."

"We had such a splendid hotel," answered Cora with a sigh. "It seems a mockery that I cannot invite you there with me—that even I cannot go myself. I keep turning the matter over and over in my mind, and the more I think the more impossible it all seems."

"Nothing is impossible in Gypsy land," replied the queen, helping herself to some berries. "And it may even not be impossible to do as you suggest. But we must wait," and she smiled prettily. "You have a very great habit of haste; feverish haste, the books call it. I believe it is worse for one's complexion than are cigarettes. Let me begin making a Gypsy of you by teaching you to wait. You have a great deal to wait for."

Cora glanced around her to avoid the eyes of the speaker. Surely she did have a great deal to wait for. "Do you stay in doors all the time?" she asked, glad to think of some leading question. "I should think that would hurt your complexion."

"We often walk in the grounds. You see, we own almost all the woods, but I am afraid they will not trust you yet. You will have to promise me that you will not try to escape if I ask that you be allowed to walk with me soon," said Helka.

"I could not promise that," Cora replied sadly.

"Oh, I suppose not now. I will not ask you. We will just be good friends. And I will tell you about David. It is delightful to have some one whom I can trust to tell about him."

"And I will tell you about my friends! Perhaps I will not be so lonely if I talk of them."

Cora was now strong enough in nerve and will to observe her surroundings. The room was very large, and was undoubtedly used formerly as a billiard parlor, for it was situated in the top of the big house, and on all sides were windows, even a colored glass skylight in the roof. The floors were of hardwood and covered partially with foreign rugs. There were low divans, but no tables nor chairs. The whole scene was akin to that described as oriental. Lena returned with the robes for Cora, and laid them on a divan. Then she adjusted a screen, thus forming a dressing room in one corner. This corner was hung with an oblong mirror, framed in wonderful ebony. Helka saw that this attracted Cora's attention.

"You are wondering about my glass? It was a gift from my father to my mother, and is all I have left of her beautiful things. It has been very difficult to carry that about the world."

"It is very handsome and very massive," remarked Cora.

"Yes, I love black things; I like ebony. They called my mother Bonnie, for she had ebony eyes and hair."

"So have you," said Cora.

"I am glad you are dark; it will make it easier, and the tribe will think you are safer. I really would like to get you back to your friends, but then I should lose you. And I don't see, either, how it ever could be managed unless they want to let you go."

Cora sighed heavily. Then she prepared to don the garb of the gypsy queen!



CHAPTER XXI

MOTHER HULL

"Mother Hull wants to talk with you, Helka."

"She must send her message by you," said Helka to Lena. "I never get along with Mother Hull."

Cora gasped, and then sighed the sigh of relief. Would that dreadful old woman enter the room and perhaps insult her?

"She is very—cross," ventured Lena.

"No more so than I am. Tell her to send her message."

"But if she will not?"

"Then I will not hear it."

"There may be trouble."

"I have my laws."

The girl left the room, evidently not satisfied.

Presently there was a shuffling of aged feet in the big, bare outside hall. Helka turned, and her eyes flashed angrily.

"Go behind the screen," she said to Cora. "If she wants to see you, she must have my permission."

At that the door opened, and the old gypsy woman entered.

"I told you not to come," said Helka.

"But I had to. It is——"

She stopped and looked over the room carefully.

"Oh, she is here," said the queen, "but you are not to see her."

"Why?"

"Because I have said so. You know my laws."

The old woman looked as if she would like to have struck down the daring young queen. But her clinched fist was hidden in her apron.

"Helka, if they take this house they take you."

"Who is going to take it now?"

"The new tribe. They have sent word. We must give in or they govern."

The new tribe! That might mean more freedom for Helka. But she must be cautious—this old woman was the backbone of all the tribes, and every word she spoke might mean good or evil to all the American gypsies. She was all-powerful, in spite of Helka's pretended power.

"They cannot take my house," said Helka finally. "I have the oath of ownership."

The woman shook her head. All the while her eyes were searching for Cora, and she knew very well that the stolen girl was back of that screen. She wanted to see her, to know what she looked like in daylight; also to know how she was behaving.

"What did she say about Salvo?" hissed the woman.

"She says nothing of him. Why should she? Salvo did wrong. He should be sent to jail."

This was a daring remark, and Helka almost wished she had not made it. The eyes of the old woman fairly blazed with anger.

"You—you dare—to speak that way!"

Helka nodded her head with apparent unconcern.

"Why not?"

"There is always—revenge. I might take your girl friend farther into the mountains. That would leave you time to behave."

"Have we so many houses?" almost sneered the younger woman.

"There are holes, and caves and rivers," answered the woman, with the plain intention of frightening the disloyal one into submission.

"We left off that sort of thing when we came to America," replied Helka undaunted. "I will take care of this prisoner. I have agreed to."

The old woman shuffled up nearer to the screen. Cora felt as if she must cry out or faint, but Helka spoke quickly.

"Don't you dare to step one inch nearer," she said, assuming a voice of power. "I have told you to go!"

A dog was barking fiercely under the window.

"They will watch," said the old woman, meaning that the dogs would stay on guard if Cora should attempt escape.

"Oh, I know that," answered Helka. "But I have told you to go!"

Cora was trembling. She remembered the voice, although she was too deeply under the effects of the chloroform when in the wagon to recall more of this woman.

"I only came to warn you," said the woman.

"You are always warning," and Helka laughed. "I am afraid, Mother Hull, that we will begin to doubt your warnings. This young girl makes an admirable gypsy, yet you warned me so much before she came."

The woman stooped over and whispered into Helka's ear. "And I warn you now," she said, "that if she gets away I will not save you from Sam. You will marry him."

"Go away instantly," commanded the queen, springing up like an infuriated animal. "I have told you that before I will marry Sam I will—I will—— He sent you to threaten me! I——"

"Helka! Helka!" soothed the woman, "be careful—what you say."

"You leave me! I could throw myself from this window," and she went toward the open casement.

"There now, girl! Mother Hull was always good to you——-"

"Go!"

The hag shuffled to the door. Turning, she watched Helka and looked toward the screen. Helka never moved, but stood like a tragedy queen, her finger pointing to the door.

It was exactly like a scene in a play. Cora was very frightened, for she could see plainly through the hinge spaces of her hiding place.

When there was no longer a step to be heard in the hall, Helka sank down on the floor and laughed as merrily as if she had been playing some absurd game.

Cora was amazed to hear that girl laugh.

"Were you frightened?" Helka asked.

"A little," replied Cora, "she has such a dreadful face."

"Like a witch," admitted Helka. "That is why she is so powerful—she can frighten every one with her face."

"And the new tribe she spoke of?"

"Has, I believe, a beautiful queen, and they are always trying to make me jealous. But since I have seen you, I care less for my gypsy life."

"I am glad! I hope we may both soon go out in the beautiful, free world, and then you could meet David——"

"Hush! I heard a step! Lie down and pretend illness."

Again Cora did as she was commanded. It did seem as if all were commands in this strange world.

There was a tap at the door.

"Enter!" called Helka.

A very young girl stepped into the room timidly.

"Sam sent this," she said, then turned and ran away.

Helka opened the cigar box. "Cigarettes, I suppose," she said. Then she smiled. "Why, it's a present—a bracelet. I suppose Sam found this as he finds everything else he sends me—in other people's pockets. Well, it is pretty, and I shall keep it. I love bracelets."

She clasped the trinket on her white arm. It was pretty, and Cora had no doubt that it had been stolen, but as well for Helka to keep it as to try to do anything better with it.

"I should like to give it to you," said the queen suddenly. She took off the bracelet and examined it closely.

"Oh, I really couldn't take it," objected Cora.

"I know what you think, but suppose you got out some time? This might lead to——"

"Oh, I see. You need not speak more plainly. Perhaps when I go I may ask you for it!"

"It has a name inside. Betty——"

"Betty!" exclaimed Cora.

"Do you know a Betty?"

"Indeed, I do! She was with us when——"

"Then that was when Sam found it. The name is Betty Rand!"

"Oh, do you think they have harmed Betty?" and Cora grew pale.

"Bless you, no! I heard that the girls had been searching the woods for you. She may have dropped it——"

"Oh, I hope so. Dear Betty!" and Cora's eyes welled up. "What would I not give to see them all!"

"Well, now, dear, you must not be impatient. See, I am reforming. I have not smoked today. And that is something that has not occurred in years. If you should make a lady out of a savage, would you think your time ill spent?"

Cora gathered up the robe she wore. It did seem as if she had been in gypsy land so long! She was almost familiar now with its strange ways and customs.

"You are not a savage, and I love your music. If you come out into the world, I am going to take you among my friends. We all have some musical education, but you have musical talent."

"Do you really think so? David loves music. Shall I sing?"

"Are you not afraid of that old woman?" asked Cora.

"Not in the least. Besides, if I sing she will think all is well." She took up her guitar. But after running her fingers across the strings she laid it down again.

"Tell me," she spoke suddenly, "about your mother. I hope she will not worry too much. If ever I knew my sweet mother I should be willing to live in a cave all my life."

Cora had always heard girls speak this way of lost mothers. Yes, it was sweet to have one—to know one.

"My mother is a brave woman," said Cora. "She will never give up until all hope is gone."

"I know she is brave, for you must be like her. And your brother?"

"He will miss me," answered Cora brokenly, for she could not even speak of Jack without being affected.

The great, dark eyes of the gypsy looked out into the forest. Cora wondered of what she could be thinking.

"Jack," she repeated, "Jack what?"

"Jack Kimball," replied Cora, still wondering.

"That sounds like a brave name," remarked the queen. "I am getting spoiled, I'm afraid. I cannot help being interested in the outside world."

"Why should you not be?" asked Cora.

"Because I do not belong to it. To be content one must not be too curious. That, I believe, is philosophy, and——"

"There is some one coming," interrupted Cora.

"It is Lena. I am like the blind. I know every one's step."

And she was not mistaken, for a moment later Lena entered the room.



CHAPTER XXII

SADDENED HEARTS

"I am afraid she is dead."

"Jack, you must not give up so easily. The detectives have faith in the steamship story." Ed was speaking.

"No, Cora would not be induced, under any circumstance, to take a Portland boat, and she could not have been taken away unconscious."

"Girls before this have been led away with fake tales of a sick mother, and all that," said Ed feebly, "but I must agree with you—Cora was too level-headed."

"And Belle is really very ill."

"Mr. Rand has sent for a nurse. Belle feels as if she must die if Cora is not found soon. She is extremely sensitive."

"Yes, the girls loved Cora."

His voice broke and he turned his head away. The two young men were seated on the big piazza of the Tip-Top. It was just a week since the disappearance of Cora, and, of course, Mrs. Kimball had been notified by cable. She would return to America by the first steamer, but would not reach New York for some days yet. In the meantime Mr. Rand, who had turned out to be such a good friend in need, had advised Mrs. Kimball to wait a few days more before starting. He hoped and felt sure that some news of the girl would have been discovered by that time.

"Walter 'phoned from Lenox," went on Ed, after a pause. "He had no real information, and the young girl at the sanitarium is not Cora."

"I was afraid it was a useless journey. Well, let us see if we can do anything for the girls," and Jack arose languidly from the bench. "Misery likes company."

They went up to the suite of rooms occupied by the young ladies. Hazel met them in the hall.

"Whom do you think is coming to nurse Belle? Miss Robbins!"

"What?" exclaimed both in one breath.

"Yes, Mr. Rand insisted that she is the proper person, and it seems there is some reasonable explanation for her conduct. At any rate, it is well we will have some one we know. Oh, dear, Belle is so hysterical!" and Hazel herself was almost in tears.

"When is Miss Robbins coming?" asked Jack.

"Mr. Rand 'phoned, and she said she would come up at once. Then he sent his car out from his own garage for her."

"What would we have done without Mr. Rand?"

"Come in and speak to Belle," said Hazel. "She feels better when she has talked with you, Jack. Of course, you come also, Ed," she hurried to add, seeing him draw back.

The young men entered the room, where Belle, pale as a drooping white rose, lay on a couch under the window. She smiled and extended her hand.

"I am so glad you have come! Is there any news?"

"Walter is running down a sanitarium clew," said Jack evasively. "I feel certain Cora is ill somewhere."

"Where has he gone?"

"To Lenox. We had a description from a sanitarium there. But, Belle, you must brace up. We can't afford to lose two girls."

She smiled, and did try to look brighter, but the shock to her nerves had been very severe. "Did you hear that Miss Robbins is coming?" she asked.

"Yes, and I think she is the very one we need," replied Ed. "She may even be able to help us in our search."

"She is wonderfully clever, and it seems she did not mean to desert us at all. There is some sort of story back of her attention to the wounded ones at Restover," said Bess, who had been sitting at a little desk, busy with some mail.

A hall boy tapped at the door and announced that some one wished to see Mr. Kimball.

"Come along, Ed," said Jack. "You represent us."

In the hotel office they met two detectives sent by Mr. Rand. They explained that they would have to have a picture of Cora to use in the press, for the purpose of getting help from the public by any possible identification.

At first Jack objected, but Ed showed him that this move was necessary. So it was, with other matters, very painful for the young man to arrange with the strangers, where his sister's private life was concerned. Jack soon disposed of his part of the interview. He declared that Cora had no gentleman friends other than his own companions; also that she had never had any romantic notions about the stage or such sensational matters. In seeking all the information they could possibly obtain, that might assist in getting at a clew, the detectives, of course, were obliged to ask these and other questions.

"Has all the wood been searched?" asked Jack.

"Every part, even the caves," replied the detective. "We visited several bands of gypsies, but could not hold them—they cleared themselves."

"But the gypsies had threatened her," insisted Jack. "Could any have left the country by way of Boston?"

"Impossible. We have had all New York and New England roads carefully watched."

"And there are no old huts anywhere? It has always seemed to me that these huts one finds in every woods might make safe hiding places for criminals," said Jack.

"Well, we are still at it, and will report to you every day," said the elder man. "We have put our best men on the case, and have the hearty cooeperation of all the newspaper men. They know how to follow up clews."

"Of course," agreed Jack. "There was nothing in the Chelton rumor. I knew that was only a bit of sensationalism."

"There was something in it," contradicted the detective, "but the trouble was we could not get further than the old gypsy woman's threat. She had told your sister to beware of interfering with that jailed fellow, Salvo. I believed there was some connection between her disappearance and that case, but, after talking to every one who knew anything about the gypsy band, we had to drop that clew for a time. There are no more of the tribe anywhere in the county, as far as we can learn."

"And they have not been around here since the day they moved away, when we were travelling over the mountains," went on Jack. "Of course you have, as you say, taken care of all the ends, but the arrest of that fellow seems the most reasonable motive."

"Had Miss Kimball any girl enemies? Any who might like to—well, would it be possible for them to induce her to go away, on some pretext, so that she might be detained?" asked the other detective.

Jack and Ed exchanged glances. There was a girl, an Ida Giles, of whom, in the other books of this series, we were obliged to record some very unpleasant things. She was an enemy of Cora's. But the detective's idea was absurd. Ida Giles would have no part in any such conspiracy.