"Oh, how I love Thanksgiving!" cried Grace.

"Oh, how you love turkey, you mean," exclaimed her bosom friend, Nora O'Malley.

"Yes," admitted Grace, "the turkey is a grand old bird, bless him, but football is what I really love, delightful, thrilling football. I wish I could play center on the home team. I know I could make a touchdown as well as the best of them."

The crowd of young people were seated on straw in the bottom of a large road wagon that was slowly making its way from Grace's house out to the football grounds. It was decorated with the colors of the Oakdale High School, sea-blue and white, and the girls wore blue and white rosettes and carried long horns from which dangled ribbon streamers. Numbers of Oakdale people were hurrying down the road toward the field, and the crisp autumn air vibrated with the sounds of talk and laughter. In the distance could be heard the music of the town band, which always gave a concert before the Thanksgiving game.

"And to think that little Anne has never in her life seen a football game!" exclaimed Jessica.

Anne blushed.

"Yes," she replied reluctantly, "I'll have to admit this is my very first game, but I understand the rules. Grace has explained them to me. I hope our boys will win."

"If the Dunsmore boys are in good trim, I'm afraid they'll give us a stiff pull," observed David, "but the stiffer the pull the more interesting it is to watch, so long as they don't lick us."

Just then the wagon drew up at the grounds and the boys and girls jumped out and made their way through the crowd to their seats.

Everybody in Oakdale turned out for the annual Thanksgiving football game. The professors and their wives, the teachers from the Girls' High School and all the pupils were there in full force, besides the citizens of Oakdale and their families. There was really a very large assemblage in the semicircular ampitheater which was hung with bunting and flags in honor of the great occasion, and probably not one in the whole cheerful company but had enjoyed a good Thanksgiving dinner that afternoon, so good humor beamed from every face.

"Don't you think this is a thrilling sight, Anne?" demanded Grace, for there was not a soul in Oakdale who was not vain of the High School football team, which had won for itself honors all over the state.

"Wonderful!" exclaimed Anne, clasping her hands and waiting impatiently for the performance to commence.

Just then the band struck up again, and under cover of the music David whispered to Jessica:

"Do you see that man over there to the right on the back seat, with long, dark hair and a slouch hat?"

Jessica found the individual presently, starting slightly when she saw his face.

"I do believe it's Anne's father," she whispered.

"It just is," said David, "and he's looking hard at Anne, too. I wonder if he means to make another scene."

"Poor Anne!" sighed Jessica. "She seems to have more than her fair share of troubles."

The two teams then filed out for warming-up practice; the excitement of the ensuing game drove all thought of the sinister looking Mr. Pierson out of their heads, for the time being. The first half ended in a brilliant touchdown for the High School boys, though the kick for goal failed. Immediately the place rang with the cheers of the spectators. Crowds of boys rushed up and down giving the High School yell and when the noise died down somewhat the girls started the High School song:

Anne was thrilled. Never had she enjoyed herself so much. She stood upon the seat beside Grace and waved a blue and white banner as frantically as anybody else.

"I don't think I quite understand what it's all about," she confided to David, who sat next to her, "but I am very happy all the same."

David smiled down into the radiant face. What a new dress and hat can do for one small, insignificant little person is quite wonderful sometimes. And Anne, with the money she had earned from Mrs. Gray, had replenished her wardrobe. In her neat brown suit and broad-brimmed hat she was really pretty, in a queer, quiet sort of way, David thought. He wondered if the father, hidden by rows of people, in the back, would be able to see how prosperous and well his daughter was looking. But his attention was recalled to the football field, for the next half was going against the High School, and there was apprehension among the sons and daughters of Oakdale.

"Dunsmore! Dunsmore!" cried a delegation from Dunsmore College.

But Dunsmore was not to be the victor that Thanksgiving Day. It was ordained that, just as hope had almost expired, a slender, fleet-footed young junior of the High School team should seize the ball and fly like the wind across the line. Score 10 to 1—Oakdale's score!

Immediately a terrific hubbub began. Surely the place had gone mad, Anne thought. The hundreds of spectators, including Grace and her party, had rushed from the ampitheater, clambered over the railing and dashed into the field of glory. Such yelling and roaring, such blowing of horns while the hero of the afternoon was carried about on the shoulders of his fellows, made her heart palpitate wildly. Her friends had forgotten all about her, evidently, or perhaps they thought she had followed.

"Anne," said a voice in her ear, "don't make any disturbance. I want you to come with me."

Anne turned around quickly and faced her father.

"Come at once!" he said. "I want to get out of this howling mob as soon as possible. We can talk later."

He took her hand, not ungently, and presently they found themselves on the other side of the fence surrounding the field. Anne had not meant to go, but she knew her father was quite capable of making a scene and she felt she couldn't endure it just then. Once outside, she thought she might escape. Never once, however, did he release her hand until he had her safe in one of the town hacks and they had started down the road.

When Grace and her friends finally recovered from their wild joy and excitement there was no Anne to be found.

"Perhaps she stayed in her seat," exclaimed Grace, but the place was quite empty.

David and Jessica looked about them uneasily.

"What chumps we were!" said the young man presently. "We never bothered to look after her, and now probably that old parent of hers has actually gone and kidnapped the poor child."

They searched through the crowds everywhere, but Anne was nowhere about.

At last David and Jessica confessed their suspicions to Grace.

"Oh, oh!" cried Grace, "I feel as if we were personally responsible for her! What shall we do?"

David thought a minute.

"Is there a play at the Opera House to-night?" he asked presently.

"I believe there is," replied Grace. "Why?"

"Ten to one Anne's father is acting in it," said David, "and that is the reason he happens to be in Oakdale to-day."

"That's a very brilliant idea if it happens to be true," said Jessica. "But don't you think we had better see Miss Mary Pierson before we do anything?"

"No," exclaimed Grace decisively. She was in the habit of thinking quickly and her friends usually let her have her way; but it was generally the best way. "It would be a pity to alarm her unnecessarily if we can avoid it. Anne isn't expected home until late, anyway. She is invited as are all of you to eat supper at my house. Suppose we go right to town, while David makes some inquiries at the Opera House. Then, if Anne's father is really acting in town to-night, we shall know what to do."

Accordingly, they tumbled into the road wagon, whipped up the horse and drove back to Oakdale as fast as they could go. On the way in, they saw a new bill posted on a wall, advertising a play entitled "Forsaken." It showed, in vivid colors, a young girl very ragged and tired looking, asleep on the steps of a large church.

"Let's go to the show," cried Nora, who always managed to combine amusement with duty; "that is," she added, "if Anne's father is in it. Of course, Anne will probably be somewhere about, in that case, and we could spirit her away while he is acting."

"That isn't a bad idea," answered David. "But I'd better find out a few things first. I'll come over to your house, Grace, and report," he called as he jumped out of the back of the cart.

The girls waited impatiently for his return, feeling that every moment Anne might be speeding away in some outgoing train, and they were losing valuable time. Grace had thought of consulting her mother, her best and wisest counsellor at all times, but Mr. and Mrs. Harlowe had gone on a long drive to the home of Mrs. Harlowe's mother and would not return until late that night. In half an hour their patience was rewarded; the gate clicked and David ran breathlessly up the walk, joining them presently in the parlor.

"It's true," he cried excitedly. "Anne is at the Spencer Arms, probably locked up in a room. Her father is acting to-night in 'Forsaken,' and the whole company leaves town on the 11.30 train. I suppose Anne must go to the theater, for there will be no time to go back to the hotel after the play. I got the whole thing out of the clerk."

"Then we can all go to the theater," cried Nora triumphantly.

"What good will that do Anne?" demanded practical Grace.

"It may do her no good whatever," said David, "but it would be well not to lose sight of the father, even, if we must follow him to the train. And if Anne knows we are near, she will be able to get back her nerve."

"Children," cried Grace suddenly, "I have a scheme. I won't put it into action unless it's absolutely necessary, but it's bound to work."

"What is it?" demanded the others.

"I won't tell," replied Grace mysteriously, "because I may not have to use it, and I'll warn you that it's rather dangerous. But it will save Anne, and we just mustn't get caught."