Late that night Marion, lying awake to worry over the letter she had read, heard the heavy rumble of the circus vans on their way out of town to the distant place where their next public appearance was to be made. All her trouble ended with the welcome sound, for now there would be no meeting with the sphinx, and Elfie would not be tempted to go outside the gates; so the honest eyes closed in sleep that lasted undisturbed till the “wake-up” bell resounded through the halls.

Candace had again succumbed to the rheumatism, so Marion dressed Elfie and took her down to breakfast and kept her by her side till the prayer-bell rang. Then Katie pounced upon her, it being her week, and Marion did not see her again except across the school-room.

At twelve o’clock recess began, at one the girls dined, and at two o’clock school began again, and lasted till half past three. The hour before dinner was devoted, in rainy weather, to gymnastics in the large garret fitted up with various mechanical contrivances for physical culture, but in pleasant weather the girls walked, ran, or played either in the grove behind the house, the meadow on the left, or the tennis-court and croquet-ground on the other side. Beyond the fence which defined these ample grounds no one was allowed to go without permission, even though, as sometimes happened, grace-hoop, shuttlecock, or ball perversely flew over the fence.

On this day Mrs. Abbott called Marion to her immediately after the twelve-o’clock bell rang.

“My dear,” she said, “I shall have to ask you to do me a favor. I have here a check for fifty dollars which I need to have cashed immediately. Will you take it for me to the bank at the village and bring me the money? It is a long walk, but I know you don’t mind that. To save time and insure your getting back in time for dinner I would send you in the phaeton, but my pony has lamed himself. But I will have your dinner kept warm for you.”

“O, that is nothing,” said Marion. “I’d as lief go without any dinner, and, if you don’t mind, I’ll go through the back gate, it’s so much shorter.” “Yes, you may do so. The key to the padlock hangs, as usual, behind the hat-rack.”

The carriage road to the village led past the front of the house and twisted and turned several ways, most obligingly winding by various farm-houses, but a shorter cut across the fields could be reached by going through a little gate at the end of the thick grove behind the house. The road thus gained led to the station and then on to the village, but a path across the fields avoided the station and intersected the road again further on.

“I’d be fidgety now if the circus had stayed over to-day, for, with Candace sick, there’d be no one to keep Elfie from going out with the girls to get their fortunes told,” thought Marion.

But the circus had gone and she went on gayly, rather pleased with the errand and thinking nothing of the two-miles’ walk to the village.

Just beyond the path that led off from the road stood a carriage with two showy young women in it talking with a young man who had apparently just met them as Marion came in sight. There was something odd about their appearance, and the girl had curiosity enough to watch them for a moment as she stood sheltered behind a screen of wild grape-vine that almost hid the entrance to the path. The party were whispering, so there was nothing for her to hear even had she been nearer; but their presence in that quiet place seemed strange.

In a moment the women jumped out of the carriage and the young man took a seat in it, saying in a raised voice, probably for the driver’s benefit:

“Well, don’t stay long with your old friend, or you’ll miss the 1:15 train, and there’s no other till 6:35. We’ll drive around a while and be waiting for you here. Now, look sharp and keep your wits about you.”

Perhaps they were going to see the servants at Mrs. Abbott’s, Marion thought, as she walked on, feeling troubled she hardly knew why; but if so, why not have driven around to the front gate, from which the kitchen was reached by a side path; but, after all, it was none of her business, she told herself as she trudged along.

There was not much delay at the bank, and Marion, feeling rather important, and somewhat anxious about the safety of the roll of bills, started for home. It would be so terrible to have any thing happen to such a lot of money that she hardly knew what to do with it. Mrs. Abbott had given her an old purse to put it in, but she thought as she went along of all the stories she had heard of highway robbery, so she took it out of her purse and tucked it into the bosom of her dress. After a few minutes the dread came that some tramp might demand her money or her life, and then there’d be a scuffle, and in the scuffle her dress might be torn to pieces and the bills fall out; so back into her pocket they went, then into her dress waist again. Then an inspiration seized her and she divided the bundle of bills, of which there were six fives and two tens, and wound them around each ankle under her stockings. There they seemed quite safely concealed even if they detracted from the symmetry of the ankles, and Marion walked comfortably on with the empty purse held conspicuously in her hand, having a little plan in her mind of flinging it far from her in the event of an attack from highway robbers, and, while they were dashing after it, taking to her heels and escaping with her stocking-protected treasure.

There never had been a highway robbery in the neighborhood, but a course of promiscuous reading had given Marion a realization that such things could happen, and she went on with almost an expectation of some adventure. As she neared the point where the path struck into the carriage road she heard a sound of rapid wheels, and, running to the vine-covered tree and peering through the leaves, she saw, as she thought probable, the carriage she had seen as she went upon her errand. The driver was not there, but the young man who promised to wait for the women sat upon the front seat and was urging the horses to their utmost speed. One of the women was by his side; the other sat upon the back seat with a child in her arms.

It was Elfie!

How she could have recognized her in that one quick glance through the leaves Marion could not have told, but she was sure of it. It flashed upon her then that these people must have been employed to steal her, and now they had succeeded!

Where were they going? To the station to catch the 1:15 express. Perhaps she could get there in time to stop them; any body would assist her, for Mrs. Abbott was well known.

Fences and rough places were no obstacles to a sturdy little mountaineer; so, straight as a bird flies, Marion tore across country, leaving bits of her dress upon the strong cat-briers, and not stopping to pick up her hat when it dropped from her head as she half jumped, half tumbled over a fence. She forgot her anxiety about the money as she flew along, panting and half crying, but still gasping over and over a fervent prayer:

“O, Lord, help me to save Elfie! Help me, help me!”

The platform and station buildings were on the other side of the track, and as Marion flew along over a hill she caught a glimpse of the carriage whirling across the track and driving behind the building. The sight made her run faster, if that were possible, but the chase seemed hopeless, for even then the whistle sounded and the engine came in sight around the curve, slowing up as it neared its stopping-place.

But even though she thought it too late she ran on, the prayer again bursting in agony from her lips, and love and fear seemed almost to give her wings. Without pausing to listen, she heard all the familiar sounds that attend a train’s arrival and departure. Just after an “all aboard” from the conductor the long train began to push slowly off, gaining speed as it moved till, as she burst from a thicket and plunged through a narrow run of waste water that followed the track for a few rods, the last car was spinning by her.

Without a breath of hesitation she seized the iron rod at the end in her strong little grasp and flung herself against the steps, bruising herself sadly, but clinging on.

After a few moments spent in collecting herself and recovering from her efforts the brave girl drew herself up from the car-steps to the platform, and, gazing back at the woods which seemed to close behind them as they sped along, tried to form some plan of action. No one at the station could have seen her spring upon the cars; so there would be no one to tell Mrs. Abbott what had become of her. Then, after all, what certainty had she that Elfie was upon the cars? Perhaps hers had been a wild-goose chase. She was positive that Elfie was in the carriage, but perhaps they had not taken her on the cars. They might have been afraid and left her at the station, or they might be still waiting there for the down-train which went through half an hour later.

Then the horrible thought came that if Elfie was safe, and no one knew what had become of her, wouldn’t Mrs. Abbott think she had run away with the fifty dollars?

The agony of that idea was too dreadful. Poor Marion threw herself down on the platform, and, burying her scratched, flaming face in her hands, sobbed dolefully.