Marion sprang off, and, waving a good-bye to the new friend, she really felt wonderfully sorry to leave, mingled with the crowd of idlers on the platform, apparently absorbed like them in watching the outgoing train. She dared not go into the waiting-room, but, walking slowly up and down on the platform, she could see what was going on within.

Elfie was sleeping, and the woman, who had taken a seat, still holding her, had thrown a gray veil over her face. Presently she stood up, and, giving the child to the man to carry, they all came out upon the platform, walked to the end of it, and, stepping into a hack, were driven slowly up the road.

Marion started briskly after them, easily keeping the carriage in sight as it climbed the long hill to the court-house. There it turned and, gradually increasing its speed, soon distanced her. For a moment the girl was nonplused, then a little thought re-assured her. The people had probably stopped to elude pursuit; they would waste no time, but most likely go on, as Miss Manning had heard them say they intended, in the owl-train. Probably they knew some one with whom they could stay in Colby, and so had suddenly given up the Blockville plan. She would go back to the station before any other train came and wait for them, and perhaps she could learn where they had gone from the hackman. She was sure she should know him again.

The legend, “Coffee, Ice-cream, and Stewed Oysters” caught her eyes as she passed through the street that Colbyites called the business part of their modest little town, and made her remember that she was very hungry, and, stepping into the little saloon, she ordered oysters, coffee, and bread and butter, which she ate with great relish, wishing that her conscience allowed her to finish her feast with ice-cream, her favorite delicacy. But while she felt sure she was justified in spending all the money she needed to assist in the pursuit of Elfie, her sturdy honesty would not justify her in indulging herself in things that were not necessities, so she finished her frugal meal and walked into the little shop in front to pay her bill. There was a counter there with three divisions respectively devoted to cakes, candies, and pies. Among the cakes were some shiny brown rusks, and remembering the long hours that she must spend waiting for the owl-train at the railway station Marion ordered half a dozen of them put in paper for her.

A man lounged in as she stood there, and laying down a dime helped himself to a quarter of a pie, making some jovial remark as he did so to the young girl in charge.

“Where you been?” asked the girl, who seemed very willing to chat with him. “I saw you taking a load of folks up from the train, didn’t I?”

“Yes,” replied the man, with his mouth full of pie; “some folks went up to old Warner’s.”

“Well, I declare! Why, Warner aint had no company before since his son went off!”

“I kinder think this was his son. He had a hooked nose like the old man. I never saw the son, for he went off before I come to Colby, but I’ve heard he had one.”

“Yes, he did; and he wa’n’t good for much either.”

To make an excuse for staying, Marion selected two or three cakes to be added to her rusks, with great deliberation, listening eagerly, for she saw the empty hack at the door and made sure this was the man who had taken Elfie and her captors from the station.

“How long is Warner’s company going to stay, do you s’pose?” asked the girl, cutting another pie in obedience to a sign from the man.

“That’s the funniest part,” said the driver. “They told me to come for them at half past one to-night, so they could take the two-o’clock train. I says to the fellow when he give me my fare, says I, ‘You make a short visit to your folks.’ ‘Yes, but the baby seems feverish, and we’ve got to get on to Sing Sing, so we can have our own doctor,’ says he. ‘All right,’ says I, ‘I’ll be back for you in time.’”

Marion needed to hear no more; so she paid her bill and walked out. She amused herself walking about the streets, and went into a dry-goods store and bought herself a small supply of collars and cuffs, a pair of gloves, a crochet needle, and some yarn and a little purse. She was too industrious by nature to feel happy without work, and so restless under the present circumstances that she thought some employment might help to keep her calm.

She went back to the station and occupied herself trying to recall the fan-pattern that Edna and Addie were crocheting for skirts. She succeeded very readily, and as the hours passed on she worked quite a long piece of pretty lace, and her interest in making it made the long time of waiting pass very comfortably.

When the late afternoon train passed she ran to the platform and eagerly gazed at the car-windows, thinking there was just a possibility of seeing some one from Coventry school.

But there was no one there, and she opened her parcel and ate her rusks and cake with a glass of water, and, getting a seat near the light, began her crocheting again. At half past nine the up freight came by, followed in half an hour by the passenger train from Troy. The station-master, who had looked curiously at Marion several times, then came and told her he was going to shut up the depot.

“O, dear!” she cried, “I was sure there was a train at two o’clock to-night.”

“So there is, and I come down and open the place ten minutes before it comes. You ought to have taken the eight-o’clock train if you wanted to go to Troy.”

“I don’t know what to do,” said poor Marion. “Couldn’t I stay here?”

“I’d have to lock you in,” said the man, doubtfully. “Aint you got no place to go to?” “No; but I don’t mind staying if you will let me; I can crochet, and that will keep me from getting lonesome.”

“But I’ll have to put out the lights; there’s orders against leaving a light.”

Being shut up alone in the dark was not a pleasant prospect, but Marion was resolved for Elfie’s sake to shrink from nothing. Still, it was a pale little face with trembling lips that the station-master glanced at as with a lantern in his hand he went out of the door.

He was not a sympathetic man, but the sight made him say cheerily:

“Well, sis, I’ll come back a little ahead of time so’s to shorten up the hours for you. If I had a home of my own I’d offer to take you along with me, but I’m one of ten fellows in a mill boarding-house, an’ it aint no place for a girl.”

Marion tried to thank him, but her voice didn’t seem very steady. She was very near to tears, but she wouldn’t let them come.

“Look a-here, Mary Ann,” she said, dropping into the unconventional form of speech which had once made her so laughed at, “you aint such a great account that there’s anyone comin’ here a purpose to bother you, an’ the Lord aint goin’ to give up lookin’ after you just ’cause the lights is out.”

Then kneeling down on the hard floor in front of one of the seats Marion prayed long and earnestly for success on her mission, for guidance and care.

“I think I can sleep now,” she said to herself, so soothed and tranquilized as she rose from her knees that it no longer seemed dreadful to be left there alone.

The moon was rising, and there was light enough for her to pick out a corner seat which was more roomy than the others, and, curling her feet under her, she soon forgot her trials in a sweet, healthy sleep which bridged the time so thoroughly that, when the station-master’s key turned in the door, she thought he had come back for some forgotten duty.

“All right, sis?” he asked, rather anxiously, flashing the lantern around the room.

“O, yes, thank you, sir; and I’ve had a nice sleep,” was the answer, as Marion slipped her feet upon the floor hastily and began to walk about.

There was the sound of wheels not long after, and, suspecting what it meant, she slipped out of the waiting-room and, standing in the deep shadows of the building, watched the sphinx and her party arrive.

The man sprang out first and said something so softly she could not hear, but she heard Elfie’s voice fretfully objecting to something. The man seemed to be trying to induce her to come to him, and finally reached in and lifted her out gently. Marion almost screamed as the light from a window fell on the little head, from which the beautiful long curls had been closely shorn, and lit up the shivering figure that was now dressed in boy’s clothes.

“Come along with me, Johnny, boy,” said Madame Belotti, jumping hastily from the carriage and lifting the seeming boy in her arms.

“He needs more medicine,” said the man, significantly, “some nice, sweet medicine to make Johnny sleep good.”

Then going into the empty waiting-room he carefully dropped something from a vial upon a lump of sugar, which the woman persuaded Elfie to take.

Marion, watching through the window, felt sure they were drugging the child to make her sleep, and was in agonies of fear lest they should give her a dangerous quantity. The poor child looked sick, too; grief and fear and perhaps the frequent administration of the quieting drops had made her pale and dejected. She seemed very docile, and laid her head on the woman’s shoulder as directed and soon fell asleep.

A veil was thrown over her face before they took her into the car and laid her carefully down upon the seat with her head, as before, resting on the lap of one of the women.

Marion dared not risk stopping on that car, but ran quickly through it, after seeing them seated, and took her place in the next.

When morning came, still keeping out of Elfie’s sight, she kept watch of the party, who seemed to have made another change in their plans; for instead of going on to New York they took a hack on reaching Troy and drove to the Secor House. Marion heard the direction given to the driver, who drove so deliberately that even without running all the way she kept them in sight.