Monday morning brought a letter for Gertrude in a distinctly masculine, but quite unfamiliar handwriting.

Its very unfamiliarity made her let it lie unopened beside her plate while she began her breakfast. If anyone showed curiosity about her correspondent she could truthfully say she did not know who the letter was from, and she liked to amuse herself with wondering about it. Even the postmark was obliterated. She decided then that the rich American, who really was leaving for Switzerland at last, had written to say farewell and to tell her when he was likely to return for the final wind-up picnic he had promised to Old Keston.

She did not guess that the mysterious writing was well known to Denys as that of one of Charlie Henchman's friends, and that she had said to herself as she carried it in from the post-box, "What is Cecil Greyburne writing to Gertrude for?"

At last curiosity overcame Gertrude. All the family were busy with their breakfast and their own concerns. Conway and her father were each buried in a daily paper, Willie and Tony had lesson books propped in front of them, little Maud was engrossed in bread and milk, and Mrs. Brougham and Denys at either end of the table were pouring out tea, and cutting bread, and dispensing porridge and bacon, and generally devoting themselves to the wants of the family. Nobody was heeding Gertrude, and she opened her letter and glanced first at the signature.

Cecil Greyburne!

She was distinctly conscious of a feeling of disappointment, but in a moment she pushed that aside. It was pleasant to find Cecil had not forgotten her, though the note was but a short one, nothing to compare in length with the one that had accompanied the Easter card which he had ridden fast and far to post.

"My dear Gertrude," the note ran, "You know I am always trotting about the country for my work, and on Monday afternoon I find I pass through Old Keston station, waiting three minutes by the official time-table (probably that will mean five). I meant to call in and give you all a surprise visit, but find there is no suitable train to carry me on later. If some of you are near the station at 5.15 and can waste a few minutes on a chat, it would cheer a hot and tiring journey and make it seem worth while. I shall be in the front of the train; at least half of me will be, the other half will be outside the window watching for you.

Monday afternoon at 5.15! Gertrude's memory rapidly ran through her list of Monday classes and pupils. One of the pupils was ill and, a most unusual thing, she would be free at four o'clock! She need not go to the station in her school dress, but have time to come home and put on something pretty. It was very jolly of Cecil to have thought of writing. Of course she would go if she possibly could.

She frowned as she wondered whether she must mention Cecil's request to her mother and Denys. He had said "some of you," but he had written specially to her. She remembered that Denys always went to help with a Blanket Club on Monday afternoons and was seldom home before six o'clock, and she did not see exactly what interest it would be to Denys to see Cecil.

At any rate she would leave that decision till she came home at dinner-time.

At dinner-time she had a bright idea. She would take little Maud. The care of Maud on Monday afternoons devolved on Mrs. Brougham, and Gertrude knew that a proposal to take the child out would be very welcome, and it would fulfil Cecil's "some of you." Cecil would like to see the family pet.

So Denys went on unsuspectingly to the Blanket Club, and at four o'clock Gertrude turned up at home, announced that for a wonder she had an hour off, that she was going up to the station and that she would take Maud with her, if Mrs. Brougham liked.

Then she arrayed herself in her freshest muslin and most becoming hat, curled up Maud's ringlets and dressed her in a clean and dainty frock, put her in her little wheel chair, and catching up a library book to change at the station, as a sort of excuse, started forth to see Cecil.

Her mother came to the gate with them both and stood watching them down the road, thinking to herself what a pretty pair they made, and at the corner they turned and waved to her, and Gertrude's heart suddenly misgave her. She wished now that she had made no secret of Cecil's letter, she had even half a mind to run back and ask her mother to come with them and see Cecil, or at any rate, to send a message of kind regards to him, but as she hesitated, thinking how astonished her mother would be that she had not mentioned it before, Mrs. Brougham, with a final smile and wave of the hand, turned back to the house, and the chiming of the church clock sounding out warned Gertrude that it was far later than she had guessed it could be.

Five o'clock! How could she have been so long getting ready?

It was fifteen minutes' steady walk to the station, and the church clock was often slow, but then the train was sure to be late!

Comforting herself with this reflection Gertrude hurried along, hating to look hot and flurried, and yet more and more determined not to be too late, even if she had to run for it.

And run for it she did, for the signal was down when it came into view a hundred yards away from the station, and as she entered the booking office she saw the engine of Cecil's train rounding the last bend of the line, and there were the steps and the subway between her and the down platform.

If she waited to unfasten Maud's strap, to lift her out, and carry her down the steps and up the steps, she would miss Cecil. The thought came to her unbidden as the train thundered in, and hastily pushing the wheel chair into a corner by the booking office window, she bade the child look through and see all the lovely big trains, till Gertrude came back in a minute. Then she flew down the steps and through the subway and was rushing up the other side when an unexpected voice arrested her steps.

"Good afternoon, Gertrude. I was just wishing to see you. What are you in such a flurry for? There is another three minutes before the train goes!"

"I've to meet someone," explained Gertrude hurriedly, "I'll come and see you, Mrs. Parsons. I can't stay now."

She ran on, and Mrs. Parsons followed her leisurely. She liked to know everybody's business and she lived opposite the Stacey's and had observed that Gertrude had attended every festivity provided by the American cousin, while her own daughter had been invited only once. She had also heard that the American was leaving for Switzerland to-day, and she immediately jumped to the conclusion that Gertrude had come to see him off. So she strolled along the platform and made her observations.

No, it was not the American, but it was a young fellow; a tall and pleasant-looking fellow too. He stood on the platform, one hand on the open door of the carriage, talking eagerly to Gertrude, and Mrs. Parsons stationed herself at a moderate distance, partly screened by a pile of luggage, and waited. She wished the engine would cease blowing off steam, she could perhaps have caught snatches of that interesting conversation, for she had wonderful hearing, besides an imagination.

"I was awfully disappointed I could not call and see you all," Cecil was saying, "I seem to know you all through Charlie and Denys. I hoped Denys would have come with you, but I suppose she was too busy. I saw Charlie yesterday and I had heaps of messages for her."

Gertrude coloured, "I'm sorry!" she said, a little nettled that he should be unsatisfied with her company, "you didn't mention Denys specially and she is always at the Blanket Club on Mondays, so I didn't even tell her I was coming, but I did bring Maudie, only we got late somehow and there wasn't time to bring her round, so I left her on the other side in the booking office."

"Here's twopence to get her out again," laughed Cecil, "Well! better luck next time. I suppose you got late by making yourself so fetching!"

"Perhaps!" answered Gertrude with a tiny bit of starch in her tone, but the next moment she laughed, and asked him when he would be making the return journey.

So the minutes slipped by till their chat was overpowered by the rush and roar of a train coming in on the up side and there was a sudden waving of flags and shouting by porters of "Take your seats," along Cecil's train.

"Hullo! we're off!" he exclaimed as he jumped on to the footboard, "we were waiting for that train to cross I suppose, but they gave us a jolly long three minutes; its been quite six, I should say. I knew they would. It's awfully good of you to come down and see me. Give my love to everybody. Good-bye!"

"Good-bye!" she echoed, "mind you write when you come through again, and see if I don't bring Denys and Maud and mother and anybody else I can lay hold of, to meet you!"

"All right!" he said, "that's a promise!"

The train moved and she stood back smiling and waving, watching him till the train passed round the bend. Then she turned, and encountered Mrs. Parsons.

"I thought I would wait for you, my dear. It is a pity to trouble you to call when you must have so many engagements. It is only a matter of a couple of words."

"Then I must get you to come round to the booking office," said Gertrude, trying to hide her annoyance, "for I have little Maud waiting for me, and she will think I am never coming back."

They passed down the steps and up the other side to the booking office, and Gertrude, entering first, went quickly to the corner where she had left her little sister.

"Well, Maudie!" she said cheerfully, "did you think I——"

She stopped short, aghast. There was the wheel chair, just as she had left it, but it was empty. Little Maud was not there.

"Maud!" she said, looking round into every corner as if the child might be hiding. "Maud! wherever are you?"

There was no answer. The office was empty except for the wheel chair.

Gertrude glanced up and down the platform, then out at the door that stood open to the road. Then she knocked at the office door.

"Have you seen anything of my little sister?" she asked, "I left her in that chair five minutes or so ago, and I can't think what has became of her."

The clerk shook his head.

"I didn't see her," he said, "I was giving out tickets for the up train. There was a terrific scrimmage between two dogs—no end of a row. Perhaps your brother or your father came in by the up train and took the child home. It was enough to frighten anybody to hear the lady that the little dog belonged to! She was right down screaming for somebody to rescue her dog."

"It might be that," assented Gertrude. All her bright colour had departed, she looked pale and anxious, and such an upset of her nicely laid plans was extremely annoying. Besides, she might be very much blamed for leaving Maud alone.

"Well! I'm not going to wheel home that empty chair," said she, "you might keep it for me till to-morrow."

Then she turned to Mrs. Parsons. It was an aggravation of annoyance to have her as a witness of these contretemps.

"Really, Mrs. Parsons!" she said sharply, "I cannot attend to any business to-night. I must get home and see about Maud. It's very thoughtless of Conway to take her off without my knowing."

Mrs. Parsons had quite intended to accompany Gertrude to St. Olave's and see the end of the story, and she was highly offended at Gertrude's tone.

So she turned homewards alone and she told the story in her own way.

Gertrude's footsteps grew quicker and quicker as she neared St. Olave's. It seemed to her that a string was being tied round her neck so tightly that she could scarcely get her breath.

If Conway had taken Maud home, why had he left the wheel chair?

On the doorstep she paused to pull herself together. It was ridiculous to be so nervous.

She went straight to the dining-room. Her mother and Denys were sitting peacefully at tea.

"Are father or Conway home?" she asked abruptly.

"No, they expect to be late," answered Mrs. Brougham serenely.

"Have you been up to the station, Denys?"

"No," said Denys, glancing up wonderingly.

"Nor Pattie?"

"No! whatever is the matter, Gertrude?"

"Somebody has taken Maud!"