“Nothing develops like developments,” declared Nat when a few minutes later he emerged from the cave, with a small crate in his arms.

“The pigeons!” cried the girls, and Tavia jumped up to help Nat set the box down carefully.

“The very goods—note that I delivered them,” said Nat in joyous tones. “Now, there’s more stuff inside, and we may as well deliver them all on one trip. Watch that crate, Tavia. Don’t let some fairy fly out of the tree and carry it off.”

But Tavia was too interested examining the contents of the crate (through the bars, of course) to notice Nat’s remark.

“Isn’t it splendid to find them!” she asked of Dorothy.

“Yes,” replied the girl, who still lay limp on the grass, “I think I should have died in there but for their cooing. They seemed to be telling me to keep up. And as I listened I felt some one was coming—I guess I heard you long before you found me.”

“But how in the world did you get in there?” asked Tavia.

“Urania showed me the place, and they were after us—but I can’t talk about it now, Tavia, I feel that even now they may be near.”

“All right dear. Forgive me for asking you,” answered Tavia, now so eager to make up for the mistake she had made in “losing” Dorothy.

“The same thing only different,” exclaimed Ned, as he came out of the cave with a big black bag in his arms. “This is our silver, ladies—Silver, this is our ladies,” he joked, as he brought the bag over and dropped it at Dorothy’s feet.

“Oh!” exclaimed both girls.

“Isn’t that splendid!” continued Dorothy. “I did not know that was in there. But do let us go home now, boys. If there is any thing else we can—you can come back for it, and you will be safer with John.”

“I guess that’ll be about all,” answered her cousin. “Now, how will we load up! Ned you take the crate, and I’ll put the bag on my back. There must be coal in the bottom, for our silver didn’t weigh a ton.”

It took but a few moments to “load up,” and presently the party was making their way to the open road, having decided to take the longest way ’round, for the shortest way home.

“Poor little Urania!” sighed Dorothy, as she reached the broad bright roadway. “I wonder which way she went?”

“A pity we couldn’t find her,” said Nat, “but we’re not through looking yet. She must be found before night fall.”

“And those awful men,” gasped Dorothy. “I do believe if they found her they would kill her!”

“Not if we find her first,” grunted Ned, for his load was so heavy he had to talk in “chunks.”

“Does Aunt Winnie know?” asked Dorothy, anxiously.

“Not a word,” replied Nat as he shifted the crate to a change of hands. “And she must not know. We can say we were in the woods and found the stuff all right, but she must not get a word of Dorothy in the cave. She would never trust us again if she did. And to Doro would be assigned a special officer as a body guardian the rest of her days. Now of course, a special officer is all right when a girl picks him herself, but the mammas always make a point of selecting the least attractive, I believe.”

The girls tried to laugh at the youth’s attempt to cheer them up, but it was only a feeble effort that responded.

“All the same, I call it great luck to get the goods,” insisted Ned, “and only for Doro’s scare the game would be all to the goal.”

“Well I wouldn’t want to go through it again,” answered Dorothy, “but having it over I, too, think it is a good thing to get the birds and the silver. I would be almost happy if I only knew about Urania.”

“Now, just as soon as we deposit this stuff safely—the birds in their nests and the silver in the pantry, we will sneak off somewhere, and you must give us the whole story. Then, we will know which way to go to look for the gypsy girl.”

Just as they turned into the path that led up to the Cedars the party met John. He had been sent out by Mrs. White to look for the “children.”

“Oh, here, John, take this bag!” called Ned as he approached, “my back is just paralyzed.”

“No take this crate,” demanded Nat. “He’s only got one back paralyzed, I’ve got two arms broken!” “Set them down, set them down,” answered the man. “What in the world—the birds! Well, so you found them?”

“So—we—did!” panted Ned, as he dropped the bag.

“And what’s this?” asked John, taking a look into the black muslin bundle. “The silver! Well now! Did you raid a pawn shop?”

“No, sir, we raided a hole in the hill,” replied Nat.

“And we pulled the hole in after us,” added Ned.

The man thought the boys only joking, but he promptly took up the crate with many kind “coos” to the birds, and proceeded with them to their quarters, telling the boys, as he went, that the “creatures” were both starved and choked, and that their wants should be attended to at once.

“Then it’s up to me to bag it again,” said Ned, “although I do think, Nat, you might shuffle for a new deal.”

When the recovered silver had been examined it was found that one article was missing—a piece of untold value to the White family. This was an old Indian drinking cup, that Professor White in his travels through India had acquired. It happened to be the last present Mrs. White’s husband and the boys’ father had sent home before his sudden death, and on account of this intimate association with her husband’s last days Mrs. White prized the old dark cup beyond estimate.

Nat and Ned hesitated to make the loss known to their mother and as a matter of fact she did not know of it until some time later. In the meantime they hurried to make all possible search and inquiries but without any satisfactory result. The old cup could not be found.

John went with the boys back to the cave and all three searched every crack and crevice in hopes of locating the missing piece of silver, but it was nowhere to be found. Following this they even visited the gypsy camp and asked there if an old silver cup might have been seen about the woods (being careful of course not to mention recovery of the other things) but Melea with scant ceremony dismissed the boys declaring, “she didn’t know nothin’ ’bout their old tin cups.”

So they were obliged to let the matter rest, although it was understood the finding of the cup would mean a very great delight to Mrs. Winthrop White.

It was still that eventful morning, although the hour was crowding noon-day, when the boys, with Tavia, insisted on Dorothy at once telling the story of her “Wild West” adventure as Ned termed it.

“Come out on the side lawn under the trees,” directed Nat. “There no one will hear us, or suspect us of holding a secret session.”

The plan was agreed upon, and presently Dorothy was made the center of the interested group, all sitting on the grass under the Cedars.

“I don’t know all the story myself,” insisted the girl, “for you see Urania ran off and left me without most of the particulars.”

“Speak of angels—there’s Urania now,” Ned interrupted, “she is looking for you, Dorothy.”

“Urania!” called Dorothy, stepping out on the path. “Come over here. Oh, I am so glad she’s all right,” she finished, as the gypsy girl sauntered up to the party.

“Well!” drawled Urania, looking keenly at Dorothy, “so you got back? Ha! ha! wasn’t they easy—them fellers?” and she laughed heartily at the thought. “Think of me givin’ them a steer! ha! ha!” and the girl rolled over on the grass as if the entire affair had been a good joke.

“But I didn’t feel much like laughing when you left me in that cave alone,” protested Dorothy. “I felt as if my last moment had about arrived.”

“Well, I couldn’t do any better,” asserted Urania, now realizing that it might not be polite for her to laugh when Dorothy had had such an awful experience.

“I’ll tell you,” put in Ned, “Dorothy you tell your part of the story, and now Urania is here she can tell hers. We are anxious to hear it all. Talk about Wild West shows! If this isn’t about the limit. Go ahead Doro.”

At this all made themselves comfortable, Urania sitting in real gypsy fashion, her elbows resting lazily on her knees and her feet crossed under her.

“Well,” began Dorothy, “I found Urania some time after I left Tavia. She was picking berries near the spring. I asked her about the message the pigeon brought, and she told me that the men who stole the birds and silver had been arrested this morning, but that she knew where the things were.”

“And didn’t I?” interrupted Urania, more to confirm Dorothy’s statement than to ask the question.

“Indeed you did,” went on Dorothy. “Then we went to the swamp.”

“Weren’t you afraid?” asked Tavia. “Not when Urania declared the men were safe in jail,” explained Dorothy.

“But they were not safe in jail,” insisted Tavia, “didn’t we see them in the gully?”

“Those wasn’t the guys,” answered Urania, “them was the other fellers’ pals. They didn’t know much about the game, they were just sneaking around trying to get next.”

“Oh,” replied Tavia, vaguely, in a tone of voice that might have suited the entire list of interjections with equal indifference.

“To proceed,” prompted Nat.

“Yes,” went on Dorothy, “we went to the hill and Urania showed me the ice house where she told me the things were put by the men who had taken them. She said her father knew they were there, but that he would not touch them.”

“Dad’s no thief,” spoke up the gypsy girl, “but he’s no sneak either, and he wants me to mind my own business. But I thought I could find the stuff and wanted to get the things back to you—you had treated me white, and I—I don’t go back on my friends.”

“Three cheers for Urania!” Nat exclaimed in a hoarse subdued yell, “and three more cheers for her friends!” When the “cheering” was over Dorothy again tried to tell her story.

“Where was I at?” she asked.

“At the cave,” replied Tavia, eager to hear the “real hold up,” part of the play.

“Yes, Urania went in first and assured me it was all right. Then I went in—and then—”

“Next!” called off Nat. “Now Urania it’s up to you! You’ve got her in the cave now.”

“That’s right,” answered the gypsy girl, showing her enjoyment at the little farce. “Yes, she went in and I stayed out. Next moment I sees them guys over back of the big tree—!”

“Oh, do let me yell?” begged Tavia, “this is all going on without the least bit of enthusiasm from the audience.”

“I’ll make you yell if you don’t keep still,” threatened Nat. “The next person who interrupts this performance will be bounced from the show—and I’m the official bouncer.”

“When I sees them over there,” went on Urania, “first I got scared—thought it was Clem and Brown, the fellows who were put in the ‘jug’ (jail) this morning. But next thing I sees them better and I knew it was the strangers. I just told Dorothy to lay low, and not to move or come out for her life. Then I runs over to the big tree, waving my hands like a ‘lune,’ making on I was giving the guys the tip. Wasn’t that easy?”

“What?” asked Nat, “waving your hand like a lune?”

“Yep, and them fellers believing me. Skip! I told them. The cops is in the cave! Run! ‘They’ve got the goods’ and if they didn’t take the steer and start out just as you fired the guns.”

“And we were the ‘cops’ on the spot!” interrupted Nat. “What did I tell you? If this doesn’t beat all the Wild West shows ever wild wested! The Pretty Girl in the cave—The Kidnapper behind a tree! Then the handsome young fellow (me) to the rescue. The tip of the gypsy maid! Tavia wants to sneak. She is calmed by the handsome young fellow. Guns—Bang! Bang! Bang! The Kidnapper—”

“Oh, ring off!” called Ned. “How many acts in that drama?”

“But isn’t it great? I’ll stage it for the boys next winter. They have been looking for just such a winner—”

“Better get it copyrighted first,” suggested Ned. “Or some of the boys might steal the pretty girl.” “Now who is interrupting?” asked Tavia. “Where is the ‘bouncer’ this time?”

“Bouncing!” replied Nat, suiting his words to queer antics that greatly amused Urania.

“You have lots of fun—don’t you?” she ventured aside to Dorothy, while a wistful look came into her dark face.

“Sometimes,” replied Dorothy kindly. “Don’t you ever have any fun?”

“Nope, fun ain’t for poor folks.”

“But where were you, Urania, when we were getting the things out of the cave?” asked Tavia, determined to hear all of the story.

“Eatin’ water cress over by the big tree. I saw you was gettin’ along all right, so I didn’t see any need to mix in.”

“Which reminds me,” said Dorothy, “that it must be lunch time. I’m famished. Urania, you must stay to lunch. You have worked hard this morning, and you are up since—”

“Since last night,” finished the girl, “I didn’t bother turnin’ in! I’m goin’ to quit the camp—this time for good.”

“Well, let us eat first and quit after,” said Nat, as a maid appeared on the porch to call them to luncheon. “Come along, Urania. You are entitled to the best there is. Take plenty of it—you’re welcome.”

This was Nat’s kind way of putting the girl at her ease, and when the others went into the dining room, Dorothy took Urania out into the kitchen and told the cook to give her a good dinner for “she needed it.”

“I’ll see you after lunch, Urania,” said Dorothy, as she left the girl smelling the savory dishes that were being served to her.

“All right, miss,” answered Urania, “I’m in a hurry to get away. Some one might want me at the camp,” with a significant look, that meant she might be called to explain her queer conduct of the early morning in the swamp.