“Now that it’s all over, and we can think without a guide,” said Dorothy, coming out from the luncheon table, “we really ought to consider Urania—we ought to consult Aunt Winnie about her, and see what would be best to do. She must not run away and be left out in the world alone.”

“My sentiments exactly,” spoke up Ned, who had taken from the table a few crackers just to show the pigeons he was glad to have them home again. “Come along down to the ‘enclosure’ and when we have interviewed the prodigals on their adventures in the wild west show that ‘busted’ up in a shooting match, then we may be able to ‘get cases’ on Urania. I notice she had not yet found her way out of the kitchen.”

“The poor child was famished,” said Dorothy. “I never saw any one eat with such relish.”

“The only real way to eat,” declared Ned. “I believe it would be a good thing for us all to get starved once in a while—when cook is in good humor.”

“Well, I feel better at any rate,” declared Nat. “It’s all very well to travel with a show, but I do like to stop off long enough to get acquainted with my digestive organs.”

“The proper caper,” agreed Tavia. “I now feel able to discuss anything from girls to gullies.”

“Girls have it,” declared Nat. “Girls to the bat!”

“Now please don’t waste time,” cautioned Dorothy. “You know what a sudden sort of affair Urania is. She is just as apt to disappear before we have a chance to talk to her, as she is to come over to thank us for her luncheon. I am making a study of her sort of sentiment—I believe it is more solid and more sincere than any we can work up.”

“Hurrah!” called Nat. “Studying sentiment! That’s better than studying French. Because sentiment we have always with us, and French only comes around on the Exams. Dorothy, you are growing older every minute.”

“And you—”

“Handsomer,” he interrupted Tavia. “Tavia I know exactly how you regard me, but don’t let’s give it away all at once.” Thus thrown entirely off her guard Tavia had nothing better left to do than to chase Nat down to the enclosure, where together they fed the returned birds the crackers that Nat had pilfered from the lunch table.

“Dorothy,” began Tavia, handing out the last crumbs, “certainly is a—”

“Brick!” finished the young man, who had a most satisfactory way of finishing things generally. “Yes, I agree with you. She certainly went some in that cave. Jimminnie! But that was creepy!”

“I should say so! I nearly collapsed on the outside. And now she is going to try to straighten Urania out.”

“And likely she’ll do it too. If I do say so Dorothy has made good use of the fact that she is a first cousin to Nat White.”

“Of all the conceits!” cried Tavia, and then Dorothy and Ned appeared.

“I’ve been talking to Aunt Winnie,” began Dorothy, in her usual prompt way, “and she thinks we really ought to do something for Urania. The girl declares she will never go back to camp, and I really do believe she has a notion of following us to Glenwood. You know her folks camped in the mountains there last year.” “Take her along, take her along,” spoke up Nat, foolishly, “the more the merrier.”

“Not exactly,” objected Dorothy. “Urania would scarcely enjoy the regime at Glenwood. But, all the same, there ought to be some place where she would fit in.”

“And if there is no such place then we will make one,” went on Nat, still half joking,—but he was the other half in downright earnest.

All this time John and the village constables were searching for the runaway men, who were suspected of being the actual robbers, although Urania declared they were not. It was true, as the gypsy girl said, the men taken into custody were the men she had seen enter the cave, and those who were seen later in the swamp were members of the same gang, but were strangers to the cave and the hidden property. Just how Urania came into possession of the facts was not altogether plain, but likely her habit of sleeping under trees, at some distance from the tents, made it possible for her to hear queer conversations, when all in the dense wood was supposed to be wrapt in the mantle of night.

Her father took no part in the doings of the other gypsies, neither did he know anything of the robbery, beyond that which was already public gossip. When therefore he heard his daughter’s name mentioned so conspicuously in the robbery talk, his wrath was intense, and his anger almost dangerous.

The whole place was in a commotion, and it was well that Urania kept away from the swamp and surrounding camp sites for the time being.