  Mary Louise spied Norman Wilder’s car in front of Jane Patterson’s house as she turned into her own street in Riverside; a moment later she recognized both Norman and Max on her chum’s porch. As soon as they, in their turn, saw her, they rushed down to the gate to meet her, and Max seized her suitcase. “If you wouldn’t be so doggone independent,” he exclaimed, “and just let a fellow know when you needed a lift, Mary Lou, I’d have driven over for you!” “That’s all right, Max,” returned Mary Louise. “As a matter of fact, Dad was coming for me at five o’clock, but I didn’t want to wait that long. There was nothing to do at Dark Cedars.” “Nothing to do?” echoed Jane. “Are you going to stay home now and leave Elsie all alone?” “Dad wants me home,” was all the explanation Mary Louise would make before the boys. Later, she would tell her chum about the girl’s disappearance. “I’ve got to go right in now,” she added. “After I have a bath and my supper, I’ll join you people.” “After supper!” repeated Max in disgust. “We were just considering a little picnic in the woods. It’s a marvelous day for a swim.” “Picnic? Why, we had one yesterday!” “And it was such fun that we thought we’d have an encore.” “I’m afraid I have too much to do to be in on any picnic,” answered Mary Louise. “But I’ll go for a walk or a drive with you all after supper—maybe.” Seeing that she was firm in her resolve, the young people released her, and she hurried into her own house. Mr. Gay was standing in the living room, holding the keys to his car in his hand and trying to persuade his wife to drive over to Dark Cedars with him. “Why, Mary Lou!” he exclaimed in surprise. “We were just getting ready to go for you. Why didn’t you wait for me?” “And where is Elsie?” inquired Mrs. Gay. Mary Louise dropped despondently into a chair. “She—went away,” she replied briefly. Mr. Gay turned sharply. “Where?” he demanded. Mary Louise shook her head. “I don’t know. Hannah said she went out soon after Jane and I left for Sunday school this morning, and the colored woman who lives in back of Dark Cedars saw her go through the woods. But she didn’t come back in time for dinner—or at all, before I left.” “The poor child is lost!” exclaimed Mrs. Gay sympathetically. “If she wandered into Cooper’s woods, it’s no wonder.” She turned to her husband. “Hadn’t we better get out a searching party, dear, immediately? The Boy and the Girl Scouts, anyhow.” Mr. Gay frowned. “No, my dear,” he replied slowly. “I don’t think Elsie Grant is lost. Neither does Mary Lou. I’m afraid she’s headed straight for Harrisburg—and may have arrived by this time.” “Harrisburg?” repeated Mrs. Gay. “Why, that’s sixty miles away! She couldn’t walk that far.” “No, I don’t expect her to walk. I think she took the train—not from Riverside, but from the next station.” “How could she take a train? She couldn’t buy a ticket, for she hasn’t any money.” “We are afraid, my dear, that Elsie Grant has plenty of money, though she may encounter a little difficulty in spending it, since the new law was passed. We believe that she stole those gold pieces from her aunt—and last night a necklace was taken, so it looks as if she had that too.” “How terrible!” exclaimed Mrs. Gay, looking at Mary Louise as if she expected her to protest, or at least explain, her father’s accusation. But the girl was sitting disconsolately with her head bowed, as if she believed that every word was true. “What shall we do, Daddy?” Mary Louise asked finally, in a hopeless tone. “Notify the railroad stations to be on watch for a girl of Elsie’s description, who probably tried to buy a ticket with a gold piece. Of course, it’s possible she may have stolen some change from her aunt’s pocketbook and used that for carfare.... Do you happen to know what kind of dress she was wearing, Mary Lou?” “My green silk—with little flowers in it. I gave it to her.” The reply was almost a sob. “I’ll attend to that part, then,” announced Mr. Gay. “And you will have to go over to see Mr. John Grant, Mary Lou, and tell him that Elsie has gone. It will be up to him to take charge of the affair.” “Suppose he doesn’t want the police notified that Elsie is missing?” asked his daughter. “It isn’t his place to decide that question. If a person is missing, it’s the law’s duty to step in and try to find him or her. The loss of the necklace is a different matter, which concerns the Grant family alone.” Mary Louise nodded and picked up her suitcase. She wanted to be alone in her own room; she felt too miserable to talk to anybody—even her father. What would be the use of telling him about her interview with Mrs. Jones, or the establishment of Hannah Groben’s alibi? He no longer entertained any suspicions about these people: the finger of accusation pointed too surely at Elsie Grant. Taking off her hat and her dress, Mary Louise threw herself down upon the bed. How tired she was! And how discouraged! How dreadful it was to believe in somebody and to have that trust betrayed! Elsie Grant had appeared to be such a sweet, innocent person, so worthy of sympathy. It didn’t seem possible that while she was accepting the girls’ friendship and their gifts she could be plotting this wicked thing. The laughter of Mary Louise’s young friends rose from the porch next door and came through the open window, but the weary girl on the bed had no desire to join them. For once in her life she felt as if she wanted to avoid Jane. She couldn’t bear to tell her that her suspicions about Elsie had been as good as proved. Tired and unhappy, Mary Louise closed her eyes, and before she realized it she was fast asleep. The experience of the previous night and the strain of this day had overpowered her, and for an hour she forgot all her troubles in a dreamless rest. Her mother wakened her by announcing that supper was on the table. Mary Louise sat up and rubbed her eyes. “I’m sorry, Mother,” she said. “I meant to help you. I haven’t been much use to you for the last few days.” “That’s all right, dear,” replied Mrs. Gay. “You needed the sleep, and Freckles has been fine.... Now, come to supper.” Mary Louise was delighted to find that she felt much better after her nap. And much more cheerful. She no longer dreaded the coming necessary interview with John Grant, which she meant to seek after supper. However, she was saved the trouble of going to his house, for scarcely had the Gays finished eating when John Grant arrived. Mary Louise and her father received him in the living room. “I have a message for you, Miss Gay,” he announced, “from my aunt.” “Oh!” exclaimed Mary Louise. “You were able to see her, then?” “Late this afternoon. She seemed much better and asked the nurse to send for me. So I went over to the hospital about five o’clock.” “Did you tell her about the necklace?” asked Mary Louise eagerly. “Yes, I did. I thought it would be best to get it over with. She asked me whether it was safe, and I couldn’t lie. So I told her what happened last night.” Mary Louise gasped. “Wasn’t the shock too much for her? And wasn’t she just furious at me?” “No, she stood it quite well. She said she knew something had happened because of a dream she had last night. And she said, ‘Tell Mary Louise not to worry, because I don’t blame her. And I want to see her myself tomorrow morning.’” “Why, that’s wonderful!” exclaimed the girl, with a sigh of relief. “I had no idea she would take it so well.” “Neither did I,” admitted John. “There’s something queer about it—but maybe she’ll explain tomorrow. I wasn’t allowed to stay with her long today, and she was too weak to talk much.” It was Mr. Gay who put the question that was trembling on Mary Louise’s lips: “Does she think her niece—Elsie Grant, I mean—stole the necklace?” “She didn’t say,” answered John. “But I don’t believe so, because she asked whether Elsie had confessed yet about the gold pieces. That wouldn’t indicate that she believed her guilty of another theft.” “No, it wouldn’t,” agreed Mr. Gay. “But everything points that way. We have bad news for you, Mr. Grant: Elsie has disappeared.” “Humph!” John Grant’s grunt and his nod were significant. “I was afraid of that,” he said. “I have already notified the police,” announced Mr. Gay. “They are watching for her at the railroad stations, and I have wired the pawnshops and jewelers in Harrisburg and other cities nearby. We’ll probably catch her by tonight.” “I hope so,” sighed John. “It’s too bad. I feel sort of guilty about the whole thing. If we had taken the child into our home, instead of letting her go with Aunt Mattie, it would never have happened. But we were feeling the depression and didn’t see how we could assume any more expense. My brother isn’t earning anything, and Mother lost most of her inheritance. While Aunt Mattie, of course, had plenty.... But it was a mistake.” Mary Louise looked gratefully at the man: John Grant was the only person besides herself who felt any pity for Elsie. How she wished he had been able to bring her up!... But it was too late now for regrets. “What will be done with her when they do find her?” she inquired tremulously. “Will she be sent to prison if she is proved guilty?” John shrugged his shoulders. “That will be for Aunt Mattie to decide. But you know she has talked nothing but reform school since the child came to her.” “Maybe I can persuade her to give Elsie another chance,” murmured Mary Louise hopefully. “Maybe,” agreed John as he shook hands with Mr. Gay and departed. Mary Louise turned to her father after the man left. “I have some things to tell you, Daddy,” she said. “Some clues I followed up this afternoon. Do you want to hear them?” “By all means,” returned Mr. Gay. “One thing I learned is that the gypsies stole those chickens. At least—the wife of the colored man who lives in back of Dark Cedars claims that they did.” Mr. Gay smiled. “You don’t think that’s important?” asked Mary Louise in disappointment, for she could read his thought. “It occurred to me that, if they stole the chickens, maybe it was they who stole the necklace.” “I’m afraid not, daughter. If we have only a colored woman’s word for it, that’s no proof. She’s probably shielding herself or her husband.... Besides, while gypsies might steal something on the outside, they very seldom have been known to break into people’s houses.” “Yes, I was afraid you would say that.” “It might be worth following up as a clue if we had nothing else to go on. But now we feel pretty sure that Elsie Grant is guilty.... But did this colored woman hear them last night—the gypsies, I mean?” “No, she didn’t. It was several nights ago, and about the same time that William, the hired man, reported that the chickens were gone.” “What else did you learn this afternoon?” inquired her father. “I sounded this Mrs. Jones out about the necklace, and she had never heard of any jewels at Dark Cedars. I believe her—I don’t think she could have stolen that necklace—or her husband, either.” “I never thought they did, for a minute. If the thief had been a colored person, you would have known it, I’m sure. The hands alone are different. Didn’t you say that the hand that touched you was thin?” “Yes. Almost bony. That’s one reason why I didn’t suspect Elsie.” “And how about Hannah? Did you learn her whereabouts last night?” “Yes,” answered Mary Louise, and she told of the woman’s visit, with her husband and sister, to the moving-picture house—an alibi which the girl could easily check up on tomorrow. “I hear Jane’s whistle!” exclaimed Mr. Gay. “The young people want you, dear. You better go out with them and forget all this sad business for the rest of the evening. I think you need a little diversion.” Mary Louise thought so too, and dashed off joyously to join her friends. |
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