"No girl would do anything like that," declared Jack emphatically. The sleuths of the law arose to go.

"Thank you for your close attention," said Ed. "We certainly have fallen among friends in our trouble. The fact that I left her alone——"

"Now, Ed, please stop that," interrupted Jack. "We have told you that it didn't matter whom she was with, the thing would have happened just the same. Any one would have fallen a victim to the false message."

Again for the detectives' information the strange man who called Ed into the hotel office was described. But of what avail was that? He was easier to hide than was Cora, and both were safely hidden, it seemed.

Finally, having exhausted their skill in the way of obtaining clews, the officers left, while the two young men, alone once more, were struggling to pull themselves together, that the girls might still have hope that there was a possibility of some favorable news.

"It looks bad," almost sobbed Jack, for the interview with the officers had all but confirmed his worst fears, that of throwing more suspicion upon the Gypsy tribe.

Ed was silent. He did not like to think of Cora in the clutch of those unscrupulous persons. The thought was like a knife to him. Jack saw his chum's new alarm and tried to brighten up.

The door suddenly opened. Both young men started.

A young woman entered the office.

"Mr. Kimball, Mr. Foster!" she exclaimed, as the boys looked at her in surprise. "I am so sorry!"

It was Miss Robbins.

"We are very glad to see you," said Jack. "We need all sorts of doctors. Belle is very ill, and the others are not far from it."

"And Cora?" she asked anxiously.

"No news," said Jack, as cheerfully as he could.

"Listen. I must tell you while I have a chance—before I see the girls. The man I stayed over to nurse is my brother!"



CHAPTER XXIII

ANOTHER STORY

"Oh, Miss Robbins!" exclaimed Belle.

"My dear! I am so sorry to see you ill!"

"Yes, but Cora——"

"Hush, my dear. You will not get strong while you worry so. Of course, you cannot stop at once, but you must try."

Hazel, Betty and Bess had withdrawn. What a relief it was already to have some one who just knew how to control Belle. It had been so difficult for the young girls to try to console her, and her nerves had worked so sadly upon their own.

"I suppose you thought I was a perfectly dreadful young woman," said Dr. Robbins cheerily. "But you did not know (she sighed effectively) that every one has her own troubles, while a doctor has her own and a whole lot of others."

"Had you trouble?" Belle asked sympathetically.

"Indeed I had, and still have. You should know. But wait, I'll just call the girls in and make a clean breast of it. It will save me further trouble."

The tactful young doctor had planned to tell her story as much for the purpose of diverting Belle's mind as for any other reason. She called to the girls, who were in an adjoining room. How the strain of that one dreadful week had told upon their fresh young faces! Bess had almost lost her peach-blow; Hazel, never highly colored, but always bright of eye, showed signs even of pallor; Betty had put on too much color, that characteristic of the excitable disposition when the skin is the thermometer of the nerves, and her eyes not only sparkled, but actually glittered. All this was instantly apparent to the trained eye of the young doctor.

"Come in, girls," she said. "I have decided to make a full confession."

They looked at her in astonishment. What could she mean? Might she have married the sick man? This thought flashed into the mind of more than one of the party.

"You thought I deserted you?" began Miss Robbins.

"It looked like it," murmured Bess.

"Well, when I went out on that lawn to work over the injured, I found there a long-lost brother!"

"Brother?"

"Yes, really. It is a strange story, but for three years mother and I have tried every means to find Leland. He was such a beautiful young fellow, and such a joy to us, but he got interested in social problems, and got to thinking that the poor were always oppressed, and all that sort of thing. Well, he had just finished college, and we hoped for such great things, when, after some warning enthusiasm, he disappeared."

"Ran away?" asked Hazel.

"Well, we thought at first he was drowned, for he used to sit for hours on the beach talking to fishermen. But I never thought he had met with any such misfortune. Leland is one of the individuals born to live. He is too healthy, too splendid, a chap to up and die. Of course, mother thought he must be dead, or he would not keep her in anxiety, but that is the way these reformer minds usually work—spare your own and lose the cause."

"And what did happen?" asked Betty, all interested.

"I happened to find him. There he lay, with his wonderful blond hair burned in ugly spots, and his baby complexion almost——"

"Oh! are all his good looks gone?" gasped Belle—she who always stood up for the beautiful in everything, even in young men.

"I hope not gone forever," said the doctor, "but, indeed, poor boy, he had a narrow escape."

"But whatever took him into the kitchen?" asked Bess.

"He went down there among the foreigners to study actual conditions. Did you ever hear of anything so idiotic? But that is his hobby. He has been into all kinds of labor during these three long, sorrowful years."

"And you were helping your own brother! And we—blamed you!" It was Belle who spoke.

"I could not blame you for so doing. I had been enjoined to secrecy the very moment poor Leland laid his eyes on me. He begged me not even to send word to mother, as he said it would spoil the research of an entire year if he had to stop his work before the summer was entirely over."

"But he could not work—he is ill?" said Bess.

"Still, you see, he could keep among the men he had classed himself with, and that is his idea of duty. I let mother know I had found him in spite of his 'ideas,' but I did not tell her much more."

"Will he not go home with you?" asked Hazel.

"He has promised to give up cooking by October first. Then I am going to collect him."

"What an interesting young man he must be," remarked Belle, to whom the story had already brought some brightness.

"Oh, indeed he is," declared Miss Robbins. "He is younger than I, and when I went to college he promised to do all sorts of stunts to prove my problems. He even wanted to try living, or dying, on one sort of food; wanted to remain up without sleeping until he fell over; wanted to sleep in dark cellars to see what effect that would have; in fact, I thought we would have to lock him up with a bodyguard to save his life, he was so enthusiastic about my profession. And as to anti-vivisection! Why, at one time he had twenty-five cats and four dogs in our small city yard to save them from the possible fate of some of their kind. I tell you, we had our hands full with pretty Leland."

"I should love him," said Belle suddenly and emphatically.

Every one laughed. It was actually the first real smile that had broken the sadness of their lives in that long, dreary week. Belle returned the charge with a contemptuous glance.

"I mean, of course, I should love him as a friend of humanity," she answered.

"Cats and dogs!" exclaimed Betty.

"A friend of dumb animals is always a friend of humans," insisted Belle.

Dr. Robbins smiled. Her cure was already working, and, while her story was correct, the recital of it had done more for those girls than had any other attempted cure of their melancholy.

"Well, I cannot agree with you that one fond of animals—that is excessively fond—is always very fond of mankind," she said. "Still, in Leland's case, it was a curious mixture of both."

"He will become a great man," prophesied Hazel.

"If he does not kill himself in the trying," said the sister. "He came too near it in the fire. But suppose he should insist on—on digging sewers?"

"Oh, you could restrain him. That would be insane!" declared Bess.

"I don't know about that. Sewers have to be dug," contended Leland's sister.

"I wish we might meet him," ventured Bess. "I am sure he would be an inspiration."

Poor Bess! Always saying things backwards. He would be an inspiration—in digging sewers!

"Well, you may some day, if he ever consents to become civilized again," said Dr. Robbins. "You see, he may take to the lecture platform, but very likely the platform will be against his principles. He will want to shout from the housetops!"

A step in the hall attracted them. It was Ed.

"Jack and I are going to town," he said, his face flushed with excitement. "The detectives claim to have a clew."

"Oh, good! I knew Dr. Robbins would bring luck," declared Belle, actually springing up from the couch. "I am going out in the air. I feel as if Cora were here already!"

"Easy, Belle," cautioned the doctor. "We must insist upon discipline for your mind and body. You must not waste energy. It is well to be hopeful, but bad to get excited."

"But I can't help it."

"Now, girls, we will let you know at once over the 'phone if we have any news," promised Ed, making his adieux. "We really are hopeful."

Hope, as contagious as fear, had sprung into the heart of each of them. Yes, there must soon be news of Cora!



CHAPTER XXIV

THE COLLAPSE

"We are to go out to-day!" Helka's face was beaming when she gave this news to Cora. The latter had longed so for the sunshine since shut up in the big upper room.

"Out where?"

"In the grounds, of course. They do not let us on the highway."

"And does that satisfy you? You could go—if you chose."

"Well, I could, and I could not. I would be afraid if I ran away that old Mother Hull's face would kill me in my sleep. She is a dreadful woman."

"But that is superstitious. No dream can kill. I wish that was all that held me here," and Cora sighed deeply.

"But you have promised not to try to escape while you are in my charge," Helka reminded her. "And surely you will keep that promise!" There was alarm in her voice. Helka had not told Cora all of her fears.

"Yes, I will not run away from you. I doubt if I could do so, at any rate."

"Indeed, you could not, but you might be foolish enough to try. I keep hoping for you all the time."

"You are very good to me, Helka, and I hope that whatever becomes of me I will not lose you entirely. But sometimes I have a fearful dread. I feel as if I will choke from actual fear."

"I don't blame you. The faces of some of our tribe are enough to strangle one. But I have promised to take care of you, and you need fear no violence, at any rate."

They were seated on the floor, as usual. Presently Lena appeared.

"Fetch the walking dresses—the brown and the black," said Helka. "We are going out in the woods."

"Sam did not go to town," ventured Lena.

"Why?" asked the queen sharply.

"I don't know. He asked if you were going out."

"Indeed! Perhaps he expects to walk with us. Well, don't hurry with the things. We have all day."

Cora was disappointed. The very thought of getting out of doors had brought her hope—hope that some one might see her, hope for something so vague she could not name it.

"Can't we go out this morning?" she asked. "The day is so delightful."

Helka gave her a meaning glance. "I wish Sam would bring me some fruit," she said to Lena. "Tell him I have not had any for days, and say that the last—from the farm was delicious."

"All right," assented Lena, "I think he—will go."

"I think he will," agreed Helka. "He never fails me when I ask for anything. Sam is ambitious."

She was bright and cheery again. Yes, they would take their walk, and Cora would be out in the great, free, wide world once more.

"How do you manage to get such up-to-date clothes?" she asked Helka, as she inspected the tailor-made walking dress of really good cut and material.

"Why, I have a girl friend in New York who sends by express a new gown each season. You see, it would not do for me to attract attention when I am out in the grounds."

"But, if you did attract attention, would not that possibly help you to get away?"

"My dear, the situation is very complex. You see, I have a respectable lover, and I live every day in hopes of some time joining him. Should our band get into disrepute, which it surely would do if discovered here, I should feel disgraced. Besides"—and she looked very serious—"there are other reasons why I cannot make any desperate move for freedom."

Cora thought it wise not to press her further. It was a strange situation, but surely the woman was honest and kind, and had befriended Cora in her darkest hour. What more could she ask now?

Helka gave Cora a choice of the dresses, and she took the black costume. There was scarcely any perceptible difference in their sizes, and when gowned Helka declared Cora looked "chic." Helka herself looked quite the society lady, her tight-fitting brown costume suiting her admirably.

Cora was trembling with anticipation. She wondered if they would be allowed to roam about at will, or how they would be guarded. Finally Helka was ready.

"We will have Lena with us—that is, she will be supposed to be with us. Then—but you must wait and see. It is rather odd, but it is better than being indoors." Helka rang her bell and Lena appeared.

"We are ready," she said simply, and again the girl was gone.

It seemed ages, but really was but a short time before Lena returned.

"All right," she said, "the door is opened, and the dogs are gone."

It was the first time Cora had been out in the hall, and she looked around in wonderment. It was dark and dirty, so different from Helka's apartment. Lena led the way. There were three flights of stairs.

"You girls do not do too much sweeping," complained the queen, as she lifted her skirts. "I should think you would have had Christine brush down these steps."

"I told her to, but Mother Hull sent her for berries," explained Lena.

They passed along, and finally reached the outer door. The fresh air blew upon them.

"Oh!" exclaimed Cora. "Isn't it good to be in the open air?"

"Hush!" whispered Helka. "It is best that you make no remarks. I will tell you why later."

Mother Hull was crouched at the steps. She looked up first at Helka, then at Cora. My, what eyes! No wonder Helka said they might kill one in a dream.

Down the steps and at last on the ground! Cora's feet fairly tingled. Helka tripped along lightly ahead of her. Two ordinary-looking men were working on the grounds. The place seemed just like any other country house that might be old and somewhat neglected, but there was not the slightest evidence of it being an abode of crime or of gypsies.

"This way, Cora," said Helka. "There is a splendid path through the woods this way. I love to gather the tinted leaves there."

As they turned the men also turned and made their work fit in exactly to the way the girls were going.

"Our guard," whispered Helka. "They will not speak to us, but they never take their eyes off us. I don't mind them, but I hate the dogs. They never call them unless they fear I might speak with a stranger."

"What sort of dogs are they?" asked Cora eagerly.

"I don't know; not thoroughbreds, I can tell you that. I could make friends with any decent dog, but these—must be regular tramps. I hate them."

Cora, too, thought she might have made friends with any "decent" dogs, but she had the same fear that Helka spoke of regarding mongrels.

A roadway was not too distant to be seen. If only some one would come along, thought Cora, some one who might hear her voice! But if she should shout! They might both be attacked by those savage dogs.

"Oh, see those gentian," exclaimed Helka. "I always think of David's eyes when I find gentian. They are as blue and as sweet and——"

"Why, Helka! You leave me nothing to say for my fair-eyed friends. They have eyes, every one of them. Here are Betty's," and she grasped a sprig of a wonderful blue blossom. "And here are dear, darling Belle's," picking up a spray of myrtle in bloom, "and here are the brown eyes of Bess," at which remark the eyes of Cora Kimball could hardly look at the late, brown daisy, because of a mist of tears.

"All girls!" exclaimed Helka wonderingly.

"Oh, I know some boys," replied Cora, running along and noting that the men with the dogs were close by. "Jack is dark. I really could not tell the color of his eyes!"

"And he is your brother!"

"The very reason," said Cora with something like a laugh. "Now I know that Walter has eyes like his hair, and his hair is not like anything else."

"But Ed's?" and at this Helka smiled prettily. "I had an idea that Ed's eyes were sort of composite. A bit of love, that would be blue," and she picked up a late violet, "a bit of faith, gray for that," and she found a spray of wild geranium, "and a bit of black for steadfast honor. There! I must find a black-eyed Susan," and at this she actually ran away from Cora, and left the frightened girl with the men and dogs too close to her heels for comfort.

For a moment Cora wanted to scream. She was too nervous to remember that she had been promised security by Helka: all she knew, and all she felt, was danger, and danger to her was now a thing unbearable.

"Helka! Helka!" she called wildly.

The other girl, running nymph-like through the woods, turned at the call, and putting her hands in trumpet shape to her lips, answered as do school girls and boys when out of reach of the more conventional forms of conversation.

"Here I am," came the reply. "What is it, Cora?"

"Wait for me," screamed the frightened girl, while those dreadful dogs actually sniffed at her heels.

Cora felt just then that the strain of being so near freedom, and yet so far from it, was even worse than being in the big room.

"I know where there are some beautiful fall wild flowers," said Helka. "We may walk along for a good distance yet. These grounds are mine, you know."

"If they were only mine!" Cora could not help expressing.

"You see, my dear, I owe something to my dear, dead mother. She loved this life."

"But your father. Did he?"

"I can't say. I wish I might find him. He is not really dead."

"Not dead!"

"No. I say so at times because we call certain conditions death, but I do believe my father lives—abroad."

"And he is a nobleman?"

"You folks would call him that, but he is not one of us."

"How strange that you should be so bound by traditions! And you know your lover—is not one of you."

"Oh, yes, he is. That is what makes him love me. He is called a socialist. He is not a gypsy, but he will not be bound by conventionalities."

"But suppose he knew of this crime?"

"We do not admit it is a crime to hold you for the release of Salvo. They cannot convict him of the robbery if you do not appear against him. It is a sort of justice."

It was very vague justice to Cora, and she knew perfectly well the argument would have little weight with her friends, should she ever meet them again.

But she must meet them! She must induce this girl—for she really was nothing more than a misinformed girl—she must induce her to escape!

If only she could get a letter to David!

If only Lena would take one for her!

My, how her heart beat! Helka was picking flowers, but Cora was looking out on that roadway.

An automobile dashed by.

"Oh!" exclaimed Cora, clutching Helka's arm. "I cannot stand it! I must call or go mad!"

The dead leaves tried to move! Something stirred them to unnatural life. There was a shuffling of feet! A riot of fear! Chipmunks scampered off! But the girl lay there!

"Cora! Cora, dear!" wailed Helka. "Try to live! I cannot lose you! Oh, Cora, I must make you live!"

But the form on the dead grass was lifeless. The automobile had dashed by. A cloud of dust was all that was left to mark its path.

"Cora! Cora!" almost screamed Helka. "Wake up! They are coming!"

The prostrate girl seemed to moan.

Then they did come.

Cora was apparently dead!



CHAPTER XXV

THE AWAKENING

"What did I do? Did I—did they—oh, tell me?"

Helka was leaning over Cora as the girl regained consciousness. It was night, and the room was quite dark.

"You did nothing, dear, but faint. That was not your fault. Take another sip of this milk. Do you feel better?"

"Yes, but I was so afraid that I screamed, and that they—those dreadful men would punish you."

"Not afraid for yourself?"

"Not if I could not help it. But you had nothing to do with it. Oh, Helka, I will die if I am not soon set free! I can't stand it."

She burst into hysterical tears. Cora Kimball was losing strength, and with it her courage was failing.

"How could you escape?"

The words came slowly. Helka was thinking deeply.

"Could we get Lena to take a note to David? He would surely rescue us."

"But then—they might pour out vengeance upon him. I could not take the risk of anything happening to David."

"You are too timid, Helka. Such straits as we are in demand risks."

"We might poison those horrible, savage dogs. Lena might do that without her own knowledge. I could fix something. Do you know anything about poisons?"

"Not much," replied Cora, "but I suppose if we got anything sure to be poison it would do." Hope sprang into her heart. "How did you get me indoors?"

"They carried you. The air was too strong for you after such close confinement."

"No, it was that automobile on the road. The sight of it simply overpowered me. Oh, how I wanted to call to those in it!"

"Poor girl! Since you came I, too, have wanted to be free, and I am not as much afraid as I used to be."

"We are in America, and have no right to fear." Cora thought at the same time that probably her own fearlessness accounted for her present plight.

"If we could poison the dogs, and then slide down from one of these windows in the dark, perhaps we could get away," said Helka. "But what would happen when we found ourselves out in the dark woods? If they found us——"

"There must be no 'if.' They must not find us. I am afraid of nothing but of this imprisonment."

"Well, we will see. To-morrow I will get Lena to go to town for me, and perhaps we may be able to arrange something."

"And you will not write to your David?"

"Don't you think that dangerous?"

"The very safest thing, for he is a man, and how could they injure him?"

"And so handsome and so strong! He is like some grand old prince—his hair is like corn-silk and his eyes are like the blue sky," and Helka, as she reclined, with her chin in her hands, upon her couch, almost forgot that Cora was with her.

"Then you will write to-morrow? Tell him to come to the end of the path at the west road by ten to-morrow night, and if we are not there we will leave a note so that he will see it."

"How quickly you plan! What about the dogs?"

"Lena will fetch the stuff to-morrow morning, and they will be dead by night. Then we will tie a rope to the window-sill or some strong place, and we will slip down. Oh, Helka, I will go down first, and go out first, and if they do not miss me, they will not miss you. It will be safe to follow me as quickly as you see I am off!"

Cora threw her arms about the gypsy queen. As she spoke it seemed as if they were already free!

"And when we meet David! Oh, my dear Cora, now you have made me—mad! Now I, too, will risk life to get away! I must go out into your world—David's world!"

"Then we must both sleep, and be strong. Tomorrow we will be very good to every one. I will be well, and if I cannot eat I will pretend to. Lately I have almost choked on my food." Cora sipped the milk and then fell back exhausted.

"I nearly forgot your illness, I became so excited with our plans. Do you know when you fainted they were all very much frightened? They would not like to have you die!"

"But they might easily bury me. I should think that would be safer."

"No, it is very hard to bury one. Somehow they find the dead more difficult to hide than they do the living. I guess the good spirits take care of the dead."

"And we must take care of ourselves! Well, that may be. At any rate, I am glad I did not die. Oh, Helka, if you only could know my brother Jack. He is the noblest boy! And our girls! You know, we are called the motor girls, don't you?"

"And you all own automobiles! I have never been in an automobile in my life," sighed Helka.

"But you are going to ride in mine—in the Whirlwind! Doesn't that name suit you? It sounds so like your gypsy names. Why did you say they call you Helka?"

"Well, I wanted something Polish. Holka means girl, so I changed it a little. My father called me his Holka."

"How do you know that?"

"From my mother's old letters. She told me as much as she wanted me to know. She said I was not all a gypsy, but I might choose my life when I grew up. She left me with a very kind gypsy nurse, but when she died—they took me to that horrible Mother Hull."

"What a pity your mother should have trusted them. Well, Helka, when we find David, he will find your father. What was his name?"

"Some day I will show you the letter, then you will know all my strange history. My music I inherited. My father was a fine musician."

The winds of the White Mountains sang a song of tired summer. The leaves brushed the windows, and the two girls fell to dreaming.

Cora thought of Jack, of Ed and of Walter; then of the dear, darling girls! Oh, what would she not give for one moment with them?

Helka dreamed of David—of the handsome boy who had risked his life to get a note to her; then of how he followed her to America, and how he had, ever since, sent her those letters!

Yes, she must risk all for freedom!



CHAPTER XXVI

SURPRISES

"Some one wants Dr. Robbins on the 'phone."

The hall boy brought the message. Dr. Robbins jumped up from her book and hurried to the hall telephone.

"Yes. Hello! That you, Leland?"

"Yes, dear. So glad to get a word with you. How are you?"

"Well? Now, you really can't be——"

"What? Going away? Run away?"

There was a long pause after this monologue.

Dr. Robbins was listening to the voice—presumably that of Leland.

Then—"Leland! Are you crazy?"

Another pause. The young woman's face might have been interpreted, but the 'phone was silent to outsiders.

"You don't mean to say that you are going on some dangerous trip in the mountains—yes, I hear, in the mountains—to help some foolish girl? I know you did not say foolish; I said that. Leland, listen to me. Do you hear? All right. Now, listen. Don't you dare to go away again and not tell me exactly where you are going. I have only just—yes, I know all about your ideas. I am sure she is charming and worthy and all that, but——"

Dr. Robbins tapped her foot impatiently. Oh, the limits of the telephone! If only she could reach that brother!

"If you do not—report—look for you around Hemlock Bend! Yes, we'll do that. Oh, Leland!"

She dropped the receiver and stood like one shocked physically as well as mentally. For a moment she remained there, then turned back to the room at the side of the girls' suite.

Mr. Rand was sitting there.

"What has happened?" he demanded. "You look as if there had been a ghost in that message."

"Oh, there was, Mr. Rand! What shall I do? That brother of mine is running off again!"

"Where?"

"He didn't even say. His words were like those of some madman. If we did not hear from him within three days, we are to look for him about Hemlock Bend."

"Where in the world is Hemlock Bend?"

"As if we knew! That is just like Leland. Poor, dear Leland! Never practical enough even to send a straight message. Oh, Mr. Rand, that boy will kill us yet!"

"Don't you fear, little girl," and there was an unmistakable note of tenderness in Mr. Rand's voice. "One who means well usually does well, however strange may be his methods. The first thing to do is to see if we can get him again at the Restover."

Without waiting for her answer, the gentleman rushed out in the hall himself, and was presently calling up that hotel. As he happened to be one of the owners of the summer house, it was not difficult for him to get direct communication and answers. But the man asked for was gone. Had just gone. Had just caught a north-bound train—the express.

"Can't get him there," reported Mr. Rand to Dr. Robbins. "Now to find Hemlock Bend."

Guide books and time-tables were hastily consulted, but evidently the place was too small for printed mention.

Dr. Robbins was in despair. That dreadful young man! Gone to some out-of-the-world place to rescue some absurd girl! And now he had actually gotten away!

Belle, Bess, Betty and Hazel had just returned from a melancholy ramble. Belle was better—really better now than some of her companions, who had been bearing up well under the strain—but all the young faces were very sad. The boys had telephoned that they had some hope for developments in the clew they had gone away to investigate, but that was very meager encouragement. The boys always had hope—over the 'phone. Dr. Robbins told them part of the story.

"Oh, the idea!" exclaimed Belle. "Isn't that like a tale of the olden times—for a young man to run away to rescue a lady! Now, what in the world is she being rescued from? Exactly. That's the impossible Leland. Never says who she is, what she is, or what about her. Now, as if we could put a story like that together!" She sank back as if mentally exhausted from the effort to "put it together."

"But we must find Hemlock Bend," said Betty. "I feel as if I could lay my finger on every bend in the White Mountains."

"All concentrated on your particular person," said Hazel, with a smile. "Well, I feel that way myself, only you being smaller, Betty, have a more compact concentration."

"I think I have it," exclaimed Mr. Rand, as he returned with his hands full of pamphlets. "It is near—near——"

"Let me look, Daddy," interrupted Betty. "I can see better, perhaps."

He handed her one little green booklet. She glanced over it and mumbled a lot of stuff through which she had to pass in order to get at what was wanted. Then she paused. "Oh, yes, there's a place on the Woodland Branch railroad called Hemlock Grove. Of course, that must be around the corner from Hemlock Bend."

They all agreed that it must be. Then to take the trip—they would not wait for three days. Mr. Rand said that would be absurd, but when the boys should return to the hotel, which would be that afternoon, they would all start out in their cars. They would make a double hunt—for Cora and for Leland.

"It is a long trip," said Mr. Rand, "but I will take the big car, and Benson—couldn't do it without Benson—and we will be able to ride or to walk almost the length and breadth of the county."

From that moment until the boys did return the young ladies were all excitement getting ready for the trip.

"I just feel now that something will happen," declared the optimistic Betty. "If four girls and four boys, besides the best man in New England, to wit, my daddy, cannot find them, then, indeed, they are lost."

"Oh, I, too, feel so anxious," sighed Bess. "I think the run will do our nerves good, if nothing else."

"And I feel exactly as if I were starting out to meet Cora," declared Belle. "Oh, what would I give——"

"We all would," interrupted Hazel.

"But to think that Leland should put us to trouble just now when our hands and hearts are so full," wailed Dr. Robbins.

"Well, as misery likes company, perhaps our trouble will get along better in pairs," said Hazel, without knowing exactly what she meant.

Jack entered the corridor. His handsome, dark face was tanned to a deep brown, and he looked different. Had he news?

"Where is Mr. Rand?" he asked.

"Just calling to the garage," said Belle, a note of question in her answer.

"Well, girls, we have found something. We have found Cora's gloves!"

"Oh, where?" It was a chorus.

"On the road to Sharon. I found one—Ed the other."

He took from his pocket the gloves. They were not very much soiled, and had evidently only lain in the road a short time.

"They are the ones she wore the night of the ball, when she disappeared," said Belle, looking at them carefully.

"Then we will take that road and search every inch of it," declared Bess, also inspecting the gloves. "The dear old things!" and she actually pressed them to her lips. "I feel as if you had brought us a message from Cora."

"Those gloves have never been out of doors a week," said Jack seriously. "They have been carried there—placed there—just to throw us off the track. We will start out in the opposite direction."

"To-night?"

"As soon as you girls can get equipped. We must find Cora now or——"

"We will find her," cried Bess. "I know we will. Oh, just let us get on the road! I think the cars will scent the trail! I feel as if I were simply going out to meet her by appointment."

It was a brave effort, for the girls felt anything but certain. So many hopes had arisen and been dashed down! so many clews had been followed, only to be abandoned! so many messages had been sent in vain!

But with such hope as they could muster up the party in four automobiles started out from the Tip-Top. Without exception every guest was interested in the case, and as the motorists chugged off many were the wishes of good luck that were wafted after them.

To find Cora! to find Leland! or——

Another disappointment would seem too cruel. Walter declared he could pick a trail they had never yet followed. Betty said she knew a very dark and dangerous pass, where she had lost her bracelet. Belle wanted to go by the river road, so that when it was actually left to Bess to decide, as she was next in authority to Cora in the Motor Girls' Club, she spoke for the way through the woods, straight up into a rough and shaggy pass.

"They would never dream of an automobile getting up there," she declared, "and if she is in hiding they have taken her far away from the good roads."

Wonderful for Bess! Wonderful, indeed, is the instinct of love!

Scarcely had they turned into the wooded way than they espied smoke stealing up through the trees.

"There must be some one over there," declared Bess, the first to make the discovery. "See! Yes, there is a flag!"

"Oh, maybe they are those dreadful Gypsies," murmured Belle. "Let us wait for Mr. Rand and the others."

"I am too anxious to see," objected her sister. "The rest are all within calling distance. See, there are the boys. Let us hurry into the side road. Whoever they are, they have had wagons up here."

It required careful driving to cover the pass, for the roadway was newly made, and by no means well-finished. Great stones continually rolled out from under the big, rubber wheels, and Bess was on the alert to use the emergency brake, although the road was somewhat up hill. She feared the motor would stop and that they might back down.

"See!" she exclaimed, "there are children! They must be Gypsy lads and lassies."

Over in a clump of evergreens could be seen some children, playing at a campfire. Yes, they might be Gypsies.

"Wait! wait," called Jack and Ed, who had now observed that the place was inhabited. "We will go in first."

"All right," called back Bess, a little sorry that she could not have had the glory of doing the investigating alone.

By this time most of the searching party had reached the spot.

"We will get out and walk over," suggested Jack, his voice trembling with anticipation.

It was growing dusk, and the smoke seemed to make the woods more uncanny, and the depths blacker and more dismal.

The children in the underbrush had climbed up into the low trees to get a view of the automobiles.

Jack, Ed and Walter were making their way through the brush to reach the spot whence the smoke was coming.

Mr. Rand and his men were hurrying over from the cross road.

"Go slow!" he called, with the disregard of speech that makes a saying stronger.

"All right," answered Jack. "We'll take it carefully."

"It's a camp!" exclaimed Walter, "and Gypsies, I'll wager."

"Oh, I am so frightened!" cried Belle. "Yet I would brave them alone for the sake of dear, darling Cora."

"Of course you would," Betty assured her, as she picked herself up from a fall over some hidden root.

Dr. Robbins had secured a stout stick, and she made her way with more care over the uncertain footing.

"There's a family of them, at any rate," remarked Jack, as he neared the open spot, where now could be seen a hut.

A rough-looking man was waiting to see what they wanted. He smoked a pipe, wore heavy shoes and clothing.

Mr. Rand spoke first.

"Good afternoon, stranger," he said in a pleasant voice.

The man touched his hat and replied with an indistinguishable murmur.

"Camping?" went on Mr. Rand, scarcely knowing how to get into conversation.

"Sort of," replied the man shortly.

"Might we intrude for a little water?" continued the old gentleman. "The girls had a dusty ride."

"Certainly," replied the woodsman, motioning toward a pail and dipper on a bench in front of the hut.

"Hard to get at," whispered Jack to Walter, "but he doesn't look so bad."

"No, I rather think he is not the man we want," agreed the other young man.

"Stay here all year?" asked Ed, as he handed the brimming tin dipper to Bess, and turned to the stranger.

"Pretty much," spoke the man with the pipe. "But is there anything wrong? Anything I could do for you?"

This caused the whole party to surmise that he must have heard that "something" was wrong. That looked suspicious.

A woman emerged from the hut. She was not altogether untidy, but of course showed that she lived far from civilization. She bowed to the party, then called to the children in the woods.

"Well," said Mr. Rand finally, "we are looking for somebody. You haven't happened to hear or to have seen anything of a young girl in these parts, a girl—who might have gotten lost in the woods; have you?"

"I have heard that a girl was lost," replied the man. "But I'm one of the forest rangers and I keep pretty close to my post at this time of the season, watching for fires. There are so many young folks camping and reckless with matches. Is there no trace of her? The missing girl from the hotel, is the one you mean, isn't it?"

Then he was not a gypsy! The forest ranger!

"No, I am sorry to say we have not yet discovered her," went on Mr. Rand. "But you being here in the very depths of the woods would likely know of any gypsy camps about, I believe."

"There are no camps in the woods this year," the man assured him. "We have kept them out of this particular clearing by law. There are a lot of them scattered about in the mountains, but as far as I could find there is no camp deep in the woods. You see every summer someone gets lost in these woods, and we don't like the gypsies to have the first chance of finding them. But sit down," and he cleared the bench of the water pail. "You must have had a weary search."

Everyone sighed. They were still without a possible clew.

"We will rest for a minute or two," said Mr. Rand, "but we must still cover a lot of road tonight. We are out to find her if she is on the White Mountains."

And so after some conversation and advice from the forest ranger the searching party again pressed on.



CHAPTER XXVII

THE CALL OF THE HEART

"I am not the least bit afraid; in fact, I think I shall just sing to show them I feel secure," and Cora snatched up the guitar. She fingered it tenderly, then let it rest for a moment in her arms. "Did Lena say it was all right?"

"The dogs are drugged. I didn't have the heart to kill the brutes, ugly as they are. They will not awaken."

"Good! Then everything else will be all right. Oh, Helka, can you imagine we are so near freedom?"

"I never was frightened before. Whether it is the thought of meeting David, or whether it is the thought of leaving them all, I cannot say, but I am shaking from head to foot," said the queen.

"That is natural. You have been with them almost all your life. But I shall show you what real life is. This is slavery."

Helka looked about her uneasily. "What shall we do first?"

"When it is very dark, and all are in bed, I will fasten the rope to the big nail that Lena fetched. Then I shall try it from this side, and if it holds me I will slip down. Then I shall run. When you no longer hear the leaves rustle, or if you can hear the whistle I will give you as a signal, then you must come."

"And if you go, and I cannot get out! Oh, Cora, I should die here alone now!"

"Faint heart! Be brave! Be strong! Say you will win!"

Cora was jubilant. To her it meant freedom! She had no fear of detection. All she thought of was success. To get away and then to send word to her dear ones!

Lena tapped on the door.

"Helka," she said, "could I, too, go?"

"You, Lena—why?"

"I will not be happy without Helka and without the good lady. I, too, would go away!"

Her eyes were sad, and her voice trembled.

"Why, Lena, they would search the earth for you—you are a real gypsy," said Helka.

"But I have no mother, no father, and what right have they to me? In the world I could learn, I would work for you, I would be your slave!"

The poor girl was almost in tears. Her manner pleaded her cause more eloquently than could any words.

"How would you go?" asked the queen.

"When I go out to lock the barn, I would just run, and run through the woods. I would wait for you at the big oak."

"Where is Sam?" asked Helka.

"He went out with the wagon this afternoon. He will not be back."

"And Mother Hull?"

"Smoking by the fire. She will sleep. I have put some powder in her tobacco."

Cora murmured a protest.

"Oh, she likes it," and the queen smiled. "Tonight it will be a treat. But the men—the guards?"

"One went to gamble his money that you gave him; the other is out with his fishing pole. I have fixed it all."

"Good girl. You told him I wanted fish for breakfast, and you told the other he could spend his money at the inn. Lena, I wish you could come with us."

"I am going. I will not stay here."

"But in the morning, when they find three gone—what then?"

"In the morning," said Cora, "it does not matter what. We shall be safe some place. Yes, Lena, we will take you. This is no life for any girl."

Lena fell on her knees and kissed Cora's hands wildly. She had befriended Cora ever since she saw her lying so still and white in that awful wagon, and now she might get her reward.

"You will come up with tea when everything is safe," said Helka. "That will be our signal."

Lena went away with a smile on her thin lips. True, she was a real gypsy girl, but she longed for another life, and felt keenly the injustice of that to which she was enslaved.

"Then I will sing," said Cora. "See, the stars are coming out. The night will help us. I have marked every turn in the path. I pretended to be moving the stones from the grass, and I was placing them where I could feel them—in the dark."

"You are a wonderful girl, Cora, and your world must also be wonderful. I have no fear of its strange ways—but my money? How shall I ever be able to get that?"

"Never fear about the money," replied Cora cheerily. "What is rightfully yours you will get. My friends are always the friends of justice."

"And they will not fear the tribe?"

"The tribe will fear them. Wait and see. Now, what shall I sing—the 'Gypsy's Warning?'"

"Yes," and Helka lay back on her low divan.

Again Cora fingered the guitar. Daintily her fingers awoke the chords. Then she sang, first low, then fuller and fuller until her voice rang out in the night.

"Trust him not, oh, gentle lady, Though his voice be low and sweet, For he only seeks to win you, Then to crush you at his feet!"

At each stanza Cora seemed to gain new power in her voice. Helka raised herself on her arm. She was enchanted. The last line had not died on Cora's lips when Helka repeated:

"Yes, I am the gypsy's only child!"

The remark was rather a plaint, and Cora came over very close to Helka.

"You must teach me a new song," she said. "I want one to surprise my friends with."

"Then you are so sure of reaching them?"

"Positive. All America will seem small to me when I am free," and she patted the hand of the queen.

"Free!" repeated the other. "I had never thought this captivity until you came; then I felt the power of a civilized world, and I felt the bondage of this."

The girls were speaking in subdued tones. A single word might betray them if overheard. Yet they were too nervous to remain silent, and Helka seemed so impressed, so agitated, at the thought of leaving, forever, her strange life.

"Do you think it is safe about Lena?" she asked. "I would not like to get that faithful child into trouble."

"It would be much safer to take her than to leave her here," Cora reasoned, "for when they found us gone they would surely blame her."

"Yes, that is so. Well, I have never prayed, that has always seemed a weak sort of way to struggle," said the queen, "but it seems to me now that I must seek strength from some One more powerful than those of earth. There must be such a power."

"Indeed there is," replied Cora. "But now let us be happy. See the stars, how they glitter," and she turned back the drapery from the window. "And see, we shall have a great, big, bright moon to show us our way."

"Hush!" whispered Helka. "I heard a step. Listen!"

Neither spoke for some moments. Then Cora said:

"It was someone in the hall, but the person has gone down the stairs."

"I wonder who it could be? Lena would come in."

"Perhaps that little, frowsy Christine. She seems to stay out of nights. I heard her last night when you were sleeping. I really think she came in very late, crept upstairs, and then I am sure she tried this door."

"She did! Why did you not call me?"

"Well, I was positive it was she, and I did not want to make trouble. You see she has been listening again."

"She belongs to another tribe and has only come here lately," said Helka. "I have always suspected she was sent to spy on me. If it were not just to-night—this very night—I would call her to an account."

"If the child is under orders," intervened Cora, "you can scarcely trust her to do otherwise than spy. But what do they want to know about you that they cannot readily find out?"

"You could scarcely understand it dear. We have rival tribes, and they each want me—or my money."

"There is another step! There seems to be so many noises to-night."

"Perhaps that is only because we are listening."

"We want to listen, and we want to hear," and Cora put her ear to the keyhole.

"Are they gone?"

Cora did not answer at once. Then she turned to Helka.

"I am sure I heard two voices. Should we call? Or ask who is there?"

"No, it will be better to take our chances. It would be awful to be disappointed now," said the queen in a whisper.

"Surely Lena would not have betrayed us?"

"Never. She is as faithful as—my right hand."

"Of course! But I cannot help being afraid of everything. Helka, we should take some refreshment. That will give us courage."

"I hope Lena will soon fetch the tea," and the queen sighed. "This suspense is dreadful."

"But it will pay us in the end. If we made a mistake now——"

Cora stopped.

A tap came at the door, at which both girls fairly jumped.

"I will answer," said Helka, immediately regaining her composure. She opened the door.

"I forgot my lesson book in your room to-day," said a voice that proved to be that of Christine, "and may I get it?"

"Not to-night," answered Helka decisively. "You should not forget things, and it is too late for lessons."

"But the man—Jensen—says I must get it. He is my teacher, and he is below."

"Tell him Helka says you must go to bed: to bed, do you hear? At once! I will have Lena see how you obey me."

The girl turned away. Helka locked the door.

"What does that mean?" asked Cora anxiously.

"They are watching us. We must be very cautious. But she is only a timid child and she will go to bed. I do wonder what is keeping Lena?"

"If they should keep her down stairs all night, then could we not venture to leave?" asked Cora.

"I don't know. They might suspect, and they might keep Lena. You take up the guitar and I will ring."

Cora obeyed. How her hands trembled! To be found out would almost mean death to both of them.

Helka pulled the cord that rang the hall bell. Then they waited, but there was no answer. She pulled it again, and after a few minutes she heard the familiar step of Lena.

She opened the door before the Gypsy girl had a chance to knock.

A wild gesture of the girl's hands told Helka not to speak. Then she entered the room.

"They are watching," she whispered, and without waiting for a reply she darted out into the hall again and crept down the stairs.

"Can't we——"

"Hush!" cautioned the queen as she pressed Cora's hands to bid her keep up her courage.

It seemed hours. Would the trees never stop rustling, and would the steps below never cease their shuffling?

"I have said that this was to be my night of music," whispered Helka. "The night of the full moon always is. So we must have music!"

A long line of automobiles had rumbled along the narrow road. Not a horn sounded, not one of the cars gave any warning. It was night in the White Mountains, and besides the party from the Tip-Top, who had been searching from late that afternoon, there were also, on Mr. Rand's orders, two officers in a runabout.

"Which way?" called the boys from their car. "Sounds like water!"

"Oh, mercy!" exclaimed Bess, who was quite near. "Don't let us run over a falls!"

"No danger!" came back from the Rand car. "That water is half a mile away."

"This is rather unsafe for the girls, though," said Jack to Ed. "I wonder if they don't want to change cars?"

"I have just asked Bess and Betty," replied Ed, "and they would not hear of it. Strange that such timid girls can be so plucky on occasions."

"They're game all right," observed Jack. "I almost feel, now that we are out in the woods, that Cora is along. It is tough to think anything else."

"Perhaps she is. I never felt as encouraged as I do to-night," declared Ed. "Somehow we started out to win and we've got to do it!"

Now, the one great difficulty of this searching tour was that of not sounding the horns, consequently they had to feel their way, as on almost any part of the mountain roads there might be stray cottagers, or campers, or rustics, in danger of being run down.

The lights flashed brightly as if trying to do their part in the search for Cora Kimball.

Giant trees threw formidable shadows, and smaller ones whispered the secrets of the wood. But the girls and boys, and the women and men were too seriously bent upon their work to notice any signs so unimportant.

Suddenly Jack turned off his power. He wanted to listen.

"Did you hear anything?" asked Ed.

"Thought I did, but these evergreens make all sorts of noises."

"The others are making for the hill. We had best not lose sight of them," suggested Ed.

At this Jack started up again and was soon under way. But something had sounded "human." He felt that there must be some sort of life near them.

In a few minutes he was alongside the other cars.

"What kept you?" asked Bess, eager for anything new.

"Nothing," replied Ed. "We just wanted to listen."

"We will leave the cars here and walk. I thought I saw a light," said Jack.

"I am sure I did," declared Bess. "Oh, If only we find a cave, there are enough of us——"

"The young ladies should not venture too deep in the woods," suggested Officer Brown. "We had best leave them with one of the young men here."

"Oh, no," objected Belle. "We must go with you. We are better in a crowd."

"Just as you say. But look! Is not that a light?"

They were almost in front of the old house. Cora and Helka were tying the rope to the open window.

"Sing! Sing!" whispered Lena, at the door. "Mother Hull is listening."

Quickly Cora picked up the instrument again, and, although voice and hands trembled, she sang once more the last verse of the "Gypsy's Warning," while Helka played her little harp.

"Hark! Hark!" shrieked Bess. "That is Cora's voice! Listen!"

Spellbound they stood.

"Yes," shouted Belle. "That's Cora!"

"Oh, quick," gasped Betty, "she may stop, and then——"

A rustle in the bushes close by startled them. A man groped his way out.

"What do you want?" he demanded.

"Oh, Leland!"

It was Miss Robbins who uttered the words. She made her way up to the stranger, and while the others stood dumfounded she threw herself in the stranger's arms.

"You, Regina? Here?"

"Yes, is this the Hemlock Bend? Oh, to think that we have found you!"

"But I must go! That was her harp. That was Lillian—somewhere in that thick woods!"

"And the voice was Cora's," interrupted Jack. "Where can she be—to sing, and to sing like that?"

The detectives with Mr. Rand were pressing on. They soon emerged from the thicket and saw the old mansion.

"That is the Bradly place," said Officer Brown. "Only an old woman and a couple of girls live there. That is no place for one to be kidnapped."

"No matter who is there," declared Bess, "I heard Cora sing, and that is Cora's song, 'The Gypsy's Warning.'"

"And I heard Lillian play," declared Dr. Robbins' brother. "I have promised to rescue her to-night."

"And that is why you came?" asked his sister.

"Yes, she is there, in a gypsy den!"



CHAPTER XXVIII

VICTORY

"Is SHE asleep?" asked Cora, as Lena poked her head in the door again.

"Yes, and she will not wake. You may go!"

"One more little song," begged Helka. "I may never play my lute again."

"Why, Lena could bring it," suggested Cora. "It is not much to carry; and your box, I will take that."

Helka ran her fingers over the strings.

"Sing," she said, and Cora sang.

"His voice is calling sweet and low! 'Babbette! Pierro!' He rows across, he takes her hand, And then they sail away!"

"Yes," interrupted Helka, "he will come, and he will take my hand. Let us go!"

"There! There!" screamed Bess. "That was Cora's voice!"

"And that was Lillian's lute! Did I not give it to her?" insisted the strange young man, Leland.

"Then our lost ones are together," said Jack. "I am going!"

"Wait! Wait!" begged the detectives. "The dogs in there would tear you to pieces!"

"They must eat my hot lead first," said Jack grimly, drawing his revolver.

"No, wait," implored Mr. Rand. "A false move now may spoil it all."

Every man, young and old, in the party took out his revolver and had it in readiness. Then, in a solid line, they deliberately walked up to the old house—through the path lined with boxwood over the little flower garden.

"Yes, there is a light. See it near the roof?"

The girls were almost on the heels of the men. They could not be induced to remain in the lane.

"What is that?"

"A woman's voice," said Officer Brown. "She is calling the dogs!"

But no dogs came. Instead, a girl, Lena, confronted them.

"What do you want?" she demanded rather rudely.

"You," said the younger officer—Graham by name—and as he spoke he seized her arm.

"I am only Lena. I have done nothing. Let me go. Help! help!" shrieked the girl.

This aroused the old woman. She flung open the door and stood with lantern in hand.

"Lena! Lena," she shrieked. "The dogs! Where are the dogs?"

But Lena did not answer.

"Sam! Jack! Tipo! Where are you all? What does this mean?"

The searchers stood for a moment considering what was best to do. As they did so something came dangling down—the rope from the window near the roof!

"Cora!"

She fell into the very arms of Bess.

Another moment and a second form slid down in that same mysterious way.

It was Helka! And Leland was there to grasp her.

"Lillian!" he murmured.

"Oh, David! Am I—are we safe!"

The door had slammed shut and the old woman was gone.

"Is this the girl we are after?" exclaimed the officer in astonishment.

"None other," declared Mr. Rand. "And I say, boys, just pick these girls up and carry them. That will be no task for you."

Cora was weeping on Jack's shoulder, Helka was folded in Leland's arms. To her he was David.

"What happened?" asked Betty.

"Don't leave Lena," begged Cora. "She must come with us!"

"Simply get everybody down on the road," suggested Mr. Rand, "then we may be able to tell Lena from Cora and all the rest."

How different it was going back over that path! How merrily the girls prattled, and how excited were the men!

It was Cora! Cora! Cora!

And it was Helka! My friend Helka!

Then Lillian. And David! Even Lena!

It was well the automobiles had a few spare seats, for there were now four new passengers to be taken back to the Tip-Top.

"Belle!" said Cora, when she could get her voice, "however did you venture out here?"

"Now, Cora," and Belle protested feebly, "I have been very ill, since you left; and you know I would have gone anywhere to help find you. Anywhere in the world!"

Cora kissed her fondly. Nothing and no one could resist teasing Belle.

"Of course you would! But who has Lena?"

"She is with the Rands," replied Bess, "but we claimed you. Oh, Cora Kimball!"

As only girls know how to show affection, this sort was now fairly showered upon the rescued girl.

"It almost seemed worth while to have been lost," Cora managed to say.

"When shall we hear all about it?" asked Belle.

"Not to-night," objected the twin sister. "It is enough to know that we have Cora."

The automobiles were rumbling on. Every mile post took them farther from the gypsies, and nearer the hotel.

"Hey there!" called Mr. Rand. "You boys keep a tight hold!"

"Aye, aye, sir!" shouted back Walter. "Seems to me Mr. Rand is getting very gay," he remarked to Betty.

"He simply means," said the dutiful daughter, "that you must look carefully after the girls. They might be after us—the gypsies, I mean.

"Oh," said Walter, in that way that Walter had.



CHAPTER XXIX

A REAL LOVE FEAST

"However did it happen?" demanded Belle.

"Please let the child draw her breath," insisted Mr. Rand. "Remember, she has been kidnapped—a prisoner, a slave!"

"No, not that," objected Helka. "She was my guest."

"I knew we would find her," declared Betty, crowding up to Cora's chair.

"We didn't," contradicted Ed, "she found us. She simply——"

"Flopped down on us," finished Jack. "Cora, I never knew I loved you until I lost you."

"Oh, yes, you did, Jackie. You always made sugary speeches when—you wanted small change."

"And the dogs?" asked the detectives. "What happened to them?"

"We put them to sleep!" announced Cora, in the gravest possible tones. "Do you know, we never could have done it but for Lena."

"Lena shall be rewarded," declared Walter.

"Wallie!" warned Jack.

"The newest girl!" whispered Belle.

"At any rate, no one can steal Helka," said Cora, glancing over at Lillian and David. "But how does he come to be Leland?" The question was aimed at Dr. Robbins.

"Oh, that boy! He must change everything—even his name, although it really is Leland David."

"David for strength, of course," said Cora. "Oh, I just must scream! Think of it! No more dogs! No more eating off the floor——"

She caught Helka's eye. "What is it, Cora?" asked the gypsy queen. Cora clasped her arms about her.

"Isn't she beautiful?" whispered Belle. "Did you ever see such a face?"

"Glorious," pronounced Betty.

"But say, Betty, did you notice how the daddy takes up with the doc?" said Ed. "I am dreadfully afraid of stepmothers."

"I'm not," said Betty, with a shrug of her pretty shoulders. "I rather like them."

"Had one on trial?" teased the boy.

"No, on probation," braved Betty.

"Then," said the officer, aside to Mr. Rand, "we shall raid the place!"

"Exactly, exactly! There may be more girls under the stoop or up the chimney. That place should not be allowed to stand."

"It was a great find," admitted the officer, "but I never would have been able to do anything if the young ladies had not recognized the voice. That place has been there for years. The Bradly house would have got past any of us."

"Yes, the girls helped," said Mr. Rand proudly. "I have a great regard for girls."

"You say silver was stolen from the seashore cottage? Likely it is in that place."

"Haven't the slightest doubt of it, and more, too, I'll wager. Now, boys"—to the officers—"you have done a good night's work. We're a happy family, and I don't want to keep you longer from yours." So, with promises to soon overhaul the old Bradly house, the men of the law departed.

"But why did you sing, Cora? How could you?" asked Ed.

"Oh, I knew I was soon going to be happy, and wanted to get used to it," said Cora, with a laugh.

"You haven't failed," said Dr. Robbins.

"Praise from you? No, thanks to my good friend, we had everything but liberty. Didn't we, Helka?"

"Oh, she's too busy. Let her alone," suggested Jack, his face radiant.

"And you have on my bracelet! Cora Kimball!" accused Betty.

"Another link in the endless chain," explained Cora vaguely. "That is a present from Gypsy Land."

"Suppose we eat," suggested the practical Mr. Rand. "I have cabled Mrs. Kimball. She had not yet sailed."

"Oh, poor, darling mother!" exclaimed Cora, her eyes filling.

"Poor, darling—you," added Jack, not hesitating to kiss her openly.

"Next!" called Ed.

"Halves on that!" demanded Walter.

"Fenn!" shouted Cora, for, indeed, the boys threatened to carry out the game.

"Maybe you would like—a minister," suggested Mr. Rand mischievously, glancing at the undisturbed Helka and David.

"For a couple of jobs?" asked Walter, looking keenly at Mr. Rand and carrying the same look into Dr. Robbins' face.

"Well, I don't mind," replied the gentleman. "Betty is getting beyond my control."

But Lillian, the gypsy queen, was not in such a hurry to wed, even her princely David. She would have a correct trousseau, and have a great wedding, with all the motor girls as maids. Her fear of the clan was entirely dispelled, just as Cora said it would be when she breathed the refreshing air of American freedom.

"So you are the Motor Girls?" she asked, trying to comprehend it all.

"They call us that," said Bess.

Then the porter announced supper, and at the table were seated fifty guests—all to welcome back Cora and to sing the praises of the real, live, up-to-date motor girls.

There is little more to tell. A few days later the house where Cora had been held a prisoner was raided, but there was no one there; the place had been stripped, and of Mother Hull and the unscrupulous men not a trace remained.

But Tony Slavo was not so lucky. He was still in the clutches of the law, and there he remained for a long time, for he was convicted of the robbery of the Kimball cottage.

Cora arranged to have the gypsy girl, Lena, sent to a boarding school. As for Lillian, who resumed her real name, Mr. Rand engaged a lawyer for her, and most of the wealth left to her was recovered from another band of gypsies who had control of it. So there was a prospect of new happiness for her and Leland, who promised to give up his odd ways, at least for a time.

Cora soon recovered from the effects of her captivity and she formed a warm friendship for the former gypsy queen, even as did the other motor girls.

"Oh, but wasn't it exciting, though?" exclaimed Bess one afternoon, when, after leaving the Tip-Top Hotel they had resumed their tour through New England. "I shall never forget how I felt when I saw Cora coming down that rope from the window."

"Nor I, either," added Belle.

"I wonder——"

"Who's kissing her now?" interrupted Jack, with a laugh.

"Silly boy! I was going to say I wonder what will happen to us next vacation."

"Hard to tell," declared Ed.

"Let's arrange for us boys to get lost, and for the girls to find us," proposed Walter.

"Don't consider yourselves of such importance," said Hazel, but she blushed prettily.

"Oh, well, it's all in the game," declared Jack. "I feel in my bones that something will happen."

It did, and what it was will be told in the next volume of this series, to be entitled, "The Motor Girls on Cedar Lake; Or, The Hermit of Fern Island." In that we will meet with the young ladies and their friends again, and hear further of Cora's resourcefulness in times of danger.

The tour through New England came to an end one beautiful day, when, after a picnic at a popular mountain resort, our friends turned their cars homeward.

And so, as they are scudding along the pleasant roads, on which the dried leaves—early harbingers of autumn—were beginning to fall—we will take leave of the motor girls.

THE END