The Vale City express came whizzing along, and the kind gentleman who had left the train with the girls was obliged to board this to get to his destination.

“I am so sorry to leave you,” he told Dorothy, “but, as you say, you are not far from your aunt’s place, no doubt you will be able to communicate with her soon. I assure you, if there was another train to Vale City this afternoon, I would not leave you alone in this plight.”

Dorothy thanked him heartily—he was so kind, and his assurance gave her courage, if it did not altogether extricate them from the constable’s clutches.

“I am sure I will be able to telegraph soon,” she told him, “and then my Aunt Winnie will come out directly in the automobile.”

So he left them, and then they followed the constable sadly to the lock-up. Dorothy now fully realized the responsibility she had undertaken. She must stand by Urania—she fully believed in her innocence, and she must see that this unfortunate girl was honestly dealt with. It was hard to go to a country jail—perhaps street boys would run after them, and perhaps it might even get in the newspapers.

“If Urania was not so stubborn,” Dorothy whispered to the tearful Miette, “I believe she would get off easier. But I’m afraid she will not even tell the story, and clear herself. She seems not to be afraid of going to jail.”

“Oh!” wailed Miette, “I do think we ought to go—I wish I had not come—”

“Now, Miette,” said Dorothy, “you must not feel that way. You must have more courage. I am willing to help you, and we should both be willing to help this poor girl.”

There was a reproof in Dorothy’s voice, but Miette was obdurate, and continued to bewail the situation.

Urania trudged along—her fine clothes making a queer mockery of her predicament.

“There’s our quarters,” announced the constable, pointing to a small, new brick building a few squares away.

Miette shuddered. “It is only to make a record,” Dorothy assured her.

“Then you have been—arrested yourself?”

Dorothy could not restrain a smile. “No, I have never been arrested at all. But I know something about court work,” she answered.

As Dorothy feared, the small-boy element did discover them. No sooner had they caught sight of the officer than they seemed to swarm from nowhere to a solid group directly about the disgraced girls.

This added to Miette’s alarm, but it only annoyed Dorothy.

“Don’t notice them,” she told Miette, as the urchins asked insulting questions. “We will soon be indoors.”

Indoors!

In a station house!

A huge man in dismal uniform sat in the doorway. The constable greeted him familiarly.

“Here we are, Cap,” he said, “I’ve got some pretty girls here. Any room inside?”

Dorothy frowned and looked up at him sharply.

“I did not know that officers joked at the expense of—innocent girls!” she spoke up, with a manner that almost surprised herself.

“Hoity-toity!” exclaimed the officer, “but you have some spirit. Related to Major Dale, all right.”

“Yes, and I think you should have given me a chance to communicate with him,” she followed up, making good use of the opportunity to assert her rights.

“No objection whatever,” replied the officer. “Cap, have you got a ’phone to North Birchland?”

Dorothy’s heart jumped! A telephone to the Cedars!

“Yep,” answered the stout man, disturbing himself reluctantly, and stepping inside to allow the others to enter.

“There you are miss,” said the constable, pointing to the telephone. “I don’t mind who you talk to or what you say now—I’ve got this girl safe here,” indicating Urania. “Some times a little girl can make more trouble than some one twice her size.”

Dorothy flew to the telephone. She was so eager to “get the Cedars” she could scarcely give the number correctly.

She waited—and waited.

“Trying to get your party,” came the answer to her ear from the central office.

How strange that they did not answer at once. “Can’t you get them?” she asked the operator, impatiently.

“I think their wire is down,” came the answer. “I’ll give you ‘information.’”

“Information,” or the young lady in the telephone office who held that title answered promptly. Dorothy made known her need—to reach the Cedars, North Birchland.

“Wire’s down from the wind,” replied the telephone girl.

Dorothy almost jerked the receiver off its cord—she dropped it so suddenly.

“Isn’t that awful?” she exclaimed, with a very white face.

“Can’t get your party?” asked the constable, coolly.

“No,” she answered, “Could I telephone the depot to send a telegram?”

“Nope,” replied the man designated as “Cap.” “They can’t collect charges over the telephone.”

“But I could send the message collect,” argued Dorothy, feeling her courage slip away now with each new difficulty.

“They only send them that way when they happen to know who you are,” replied the man in an insolent tone, “and it ain’t likely they know a parcel of boarding-school girls.” Dorothy sank into the carpet-seated chair at her side. She was discouraged now.

Miette waited as close to the door as she could “squeeze” without actually being on the outside of the sill.

Urania did not appear frightened now—she seemed ready to fight!

All the gypsy blood within her resented this “outrage,” and when she “resented” anything it was revenge that filled her heart. She would get even!

But what was one poor unfortunate girl to do when big burly officers of the law opposed her?

“I suppose I will have to go back to the station,” stammered Dorothy. “Have you no matron here?” she asked, suddenly realizing that “girl prisoners,” must be entitled to some consideration.

“Matron?” laughed the captain.

“Oh, I don’t know,” and the constable winked at his brother officer, “there might be a woman—Cap, couldn’t you—get some one?”

At this the two men held a whispered conversation, and presently the constable remarked:

“I’ve got to go back to North Birchland now, and if you two young ladies want to go I’ll take you along.” “No, thank you,” replied Dorothy promptly. “We are not ready to leave yet.”

“Don’t stay on my account,” spoke up Urania suddenly, breaking her sullen silence. “I’ll be all right here,” and she glanced at the open window.

“But I shall not leave you—that is, unless I have to,” insisted Dorothy, “I brought you away from Glenwood, and I am going to get you home if I can to-night. There must be some way.”

The constable was waiting.

“Now I’ll tell you miss, since you seem so set,” and he smiled broadly at Dorothy, “I’m going back to see about—well to fix things up—” (Dorothy felt sure he meant he was going back to claim the reward,) “then if everything is all right perhaps we can take bail for her—you could get bail?”

“Indeed I could,” Dorothy assured him. “All our folks know and like this girl.”

“Well, it’s a good thing to have friends. And now I’m off—I may see you later in the afternoon, Miss Dale, and in the meantime let me compliment you—you’re game all right.”

Dorothy felt too grieved to thank the man for his rough compliment, and she only glanced at him as he left the place.

The police captain settled down near the door again. Evidently he did not care just what his prisoner did so long as she did not attempt to run away. He paid not the slightest attention to any of the girls, but sat down in that lazy, heavy way, characteristic of officers who have nothing else to do. He refilled his pipe and started in to smoke again as if he were just as much alone as he had been before the noon train came in with the interesting trio of much-perplexed girls.

“I think I had better go back to the station now,” said Dorothy to Urania. Miette simply stared about her and seemed incapable of conversing. “Do you wish to come, Miette?” she asked of the girl over at the door.

“Oh, yes, certainly! I should be so glad to go!” replied Miette, showing too plainly her eagerness to get away from the place.

“Can you call the woman you spoke of?” Dorothy said to the officer. “I must go to the station, and do not think I should leave my friend here all alone.”

“All alone? Don’t I count,” and he grinned in a silly fashion. “Oh, I see—of course. Young ladies like you must have a—what do you call it? A ‘chapperton?’”

Dorothy was too annoyed to laugh at the man’s queer attempt to use a big word.

“I have always heard that there should be a matron in every public place where young girls or women are detained,” she said with a brave and satisfactory effort.

This quite awed the officer. “I’ll call Mary,” he said getting up from the seat by the door. “She’ll kick about leavin’ off her housework, but I suppose when we’ve got swells to deal with—why we must be swell, too.”

He dragged himself to the stone steps outside and called into a basement next door. But “Mary” evidently did not hear him. Urania had her eyes fixed on that door like an eagle watching a chance to spring. The man stepped off the stoop, but kept his hand on the rail.

“Mary!” he called again, and as he did so Urania shot out of the door, past the officer, and down the street before he, or any one else, had time to realize what she was doing.

Dorothy stood like one transfixed!

The officer first attempted to run—then he yelled and shouted—but of course Urania was putting plenty of ground between herself and the officer’s voice. Dorothy and Miette had hurried out to the side walk.

“Here!” he shouted, grabbing both girls roughly by the arm, “this is all your doing. You’ll pay for it too. Do you know what it means to help a prisoner to escape? Get in there,” and he shoved the two terrified girls back into the little room, “I’ll see to it that you don’t follow her,” and at this he took a key from his pocket, unlocked the door of a cell, and thrust Dorothy and Miette within.