Miss Tross-Kingdon entered Miss Hexam’s room, looking so disturbed that the latter asked:

“Why, Muriel, what is the matter?”

They two were of kin and called each other by their first names.

“Matter enough, Wilda. I’m worried and angry. And to think it should happen while the Bishop is away on that trip of his to the States!”

“Tell me,” urged the gentle little woman, pushing a chair forward into which the Lady Principal wearily dropped.

“It’s that Dorothy Calvert. She’s lost herself again!”

“She has a knack of doing that! But she’ll be found.”

“Maybe. Worst is she’s taken another with her. Robin, the new boot-boy.”

Miss Hexam laughed:

“Well, I admit that is the greater loss just now! Girls are plentiful enough at Oak Knowe but boot-boys are scarce. And this Robin was a paragon, wasn’t he? Also, I thought Dorothy was away up toward the ‘good conduct medal,’ as well as ‘distinction’ in music. I don’t see why she should do so foolish a thing as you say and lessen her chances for the prize.”

“Wilda, you don’t understand how serious it is. It was one thing to have it happen in this house but it’s night now and she away in a strange city. I declare I almost wish she’d never come at all.”

For a moment Miss Hexam said no more. She knew that Miss Muriel loved the missing girl with sincere affection and was extremely proud of her great progress in her studies. All the school had readily conceded that in her own Form Dorothy stood highest, and would certainly win the “honors” of that Form. When the Principal had rested quietly a while longer she asked:

“Now tell me all about it, Muriel.”

“Nobody missed her, but, she did not come home with the rest. I’ve ’phoned to the police to look for for her and the boy, but it’s a disgrace to the school to have to do such a thing. Besides, Robin’s mother is half wild about him and declares she must walk into town to seek him.”

“You’re foolish, the pair of you. Stop and reason. Robin is thoroughly familiar with the city and suburbs, from his messenger-boy experience. Dorothy is blessed with a fair share of common sense. If they wandered away somewhere, they’ll soon wander back again when they realize what they have done. I’m sorry you stirred up the police and they should be warned to keep the matter quiet.”

“Oh! they have been,” answered the weary Lady Principal. “It does seem, lately, that every good time we allow the girls ends in disaster.”

“Never mind. You go to bed. You’ve done all you can till morning.”

Miss Muriel did go away but only to spend the night in watching along with Lady Jane in the library, the latter deeply regretting that she had ever suggested this outing and, like the Lady Principal, both sorry and angry over its ending.

Dorothy had ridden to the exhibition in the very last sleigh of all, as Robin had in the first, and when they all left the hotel after dinner he had lingered beside her while she waited for the other teams to drive on and her own to come up.

This took a long time, there was so much ado in settling so many girls to the satisfaction of all; and looking backward he saw that there would still be a delay of several moments.

“I say, Dorothy, come on. I want to show you where we used to live before my father died. We’ll be back in plenty time. It’s the dearest little house, with only two rooms in it; but after we left it nobody lived there and it’s all gone to pieces. Makes me feel bad but I’d like to show you. Just down that block and around a side street. Come on. What’s the use standing here?”

“Sure we can be back in time, Robin?”

“Certain. Cross my heart. I’m telling you the truth. It’s only a step or so.”

“Well, then, let’s hurry.”

Hurry they did, he whistling as usual, until they came to a narrow alley that had used to be open but had now been closed by a great pile of lumber, impossible for them to climb.

“Oh! pshaw! Somebody must be going to build here. But never mind. Our house was right yonder, we can go another way.”

His interest as well as hers in exploring “new places,” made them forget everything else; and when, at last, they came to Robin’s old home a full half-hour had passed.

It was, indeed, a sorry place. Broken windows, hanging doors and shutters, chimney fallen, and doorstep gone. Nobody occupied it now except, possibly, a passing tramp or the street gamin who had destroyed it.

“My! I’m glad my Mother can’t see it now. She never has since we moved down to our cottage in the glen. It would break her dear heart, for my father built it when they were first married. That was the kitchen, that the bedroom—Hark! What’s that?”

“Sounded like a cat.”

“Didn’t to me. Cats are squealier’n that was. I wonder if anybody or thing is in there now. If I had time I’d go and see.”

“Robin, wouldn’t you be afraid?”

“Afraid? Afraid to go into my own house, that was, that my father built with his own hands? Huh! What do you take me for? I’d as soon go in there as eat my din—Hello! There certainly—”

They put their heads close to the paneless window and listened intently. That was a human groan. That was a curious patter of small hoofs—Dorothy had heard just such a sound before. That surely was a most familiar wail:

“Oh, Baal! My jiminy cricket!”

“Jiminy cricket yourself, Jack-boot-boy! What you doing in my house? I’m living in yours—I mean I’m boot-boy now. How are you?” cried Robin, through the window.

“Who’m you? Have you got anything to eat? Quick! Have you?”

The voice which put the question was surely Jack’s but oddly weak and tremulous. Dorothy answered:

“Not here, Jack, course. Are you hungry?”

“Starvin’! Starvin’! I ain’t touched food nor drink this two days. Oh! Have you?”

Daylight was already fading and street lights flashing out but this by-way of the town had no such break to the darkness. Robin was over the rickety threshold in an instant and Dorothy quickly followed. Neither had now any thought save for the boy within and his suffering.

They found him lying on a pile of old rags or pieces of discarded burlap which he had picked up on the streets, or that some former lodger in the room had gathered. Beside him was Baal, bleating piteously, as if he, too, were starving. The reason for this was evident when Robin stumbled over a rope by which the animal was fastened to the window sash; else he might have strolled abroad and foraged for himself.

But if Robin fell he was up in a second and with the instincts of a city bred boy knew just what to do and how to do it.

“Got any money, Dorothy?”

“Yes. Twenty-five cents, my week’s allowance.”

“I’ve got ten. Mother said I might keep that much out of my week’s wages. Give it here. I’ll be back in a minute.”

He was gone and Dorothy dropped down on the dusty floor beside Jack and asked his story. He told it readily enough, as far as willingness went, but his speech lagged for once and from sheer lack of strength.

“I left—seeking my fortune. It warn’t so easy as I thought it would be. I’ve hired for odd jobs, held horses, run arrants, helped ’round taverns, but didn’t get no place for steady. Trouble was, folks don’t take no great to Baal. They’d put with him a spell, treat him real decent till he’d up and butt somebody over—then his dough was cooked. The worse he was used the better I liked him, though I’d ha’ sold him for money if I could, I’ve been hungry so much the time. And that right here, Dorothy, in a town full o’ victuals! Just chock full. See ’em in the winders, see ’em in the markets, on wagons—and every created place, but not a speck for me. But I got along, I’d ha’ made out, if I hadn’t et somethin’ made me dretful sick. It was somethin’ in a can I picked up out a garbage pail, some sort o’ fish I guess, and I’ve been terr’ble ever since. What’d he go for? Why don’t he come back?”

“I don’t know. I reckon he went for food. How did you keep warm in here, if this is where you lived?”

“Didn’t keep warm. How could I? I ain’t been warm, not real clean through, since the last night I slep’ in my nice bed at Oak Knowe.”

“Why didn’t you come back? Or go to the railway stations? They are always heated, I reckon.”

“Did. Turned me out. Lemme stay a spell but then turned me out. Said I better go to the poorhouse but—won’t that boy never come!”

“He’s coming now, Jack,” she answered and was almost as glad as he of the fact.

Robin came whistling in, good cheer in the very sound.

“Here you are neighbor! Candle and matches—two cents. Pint of milk—three. Drink it down while I light up!”

Jack grabbed the milk bottle with both hands and drained it; then fell back again with a groan.

“’T hurts my stummick! Hurts my stummick awful!”

“Never mind. I’ll turn Baal loose and let him find something outside. A likely supper of tin cans and old shoes’ll set him up to a T. Scoot, Baal!”

The goat was glad enough to go, apparently, yet in a moment came bleating back to his master. Dorothy thought that was pathetic but Robin declared it disgusting.

“Clear out, you old heathen, and hunt your supper—”

“Oh! don’t be cruel to the loving creature, Robin! Suppose he should get lost?” begged Dorothy.

“Lost? You can’t lose Baal, don’t you fret. Look-a-here, boy! here’s a sandwich! Come from the best place in town. I know it. Give the biggest slice for the least money. Can’t tell me anything about that, for I’ve been nigh starved myself too often in this same old town. What? You don’t want it? Can’t eat it? Then what do you want?”

Provoked that his efforts to please Jack failed so fully, Robin whistled again, but not at all merrily this time; for he had at last begun to think of his own predicament and Dorothy’s. Here they were stranded in town, Oak Knowe so far away, night fast falling and, doubtless, a stern reprimand due—should they ever reach that happy haven again.

“Robin, I do believe he is sick. Real, terrible sick. It wasn’t just starving ailed him. Do you s’pose we could get a doctor to him?”

“To this shanty? No, I don’t. But if he’s sick, there’s hospitals. Slathers of ’em. Hurray! There’s the one that Dr. Winston is head of. There’s an emergency ward there and free ones—and it’s the very checker!”

Jack had ceased moaning and lay very still. So still that they were both frightened and Dolly asked:

“How can we get him there, if they would take him in? He’s terrible heavy to carry.”

Even dimly seen by the light of the flickering candle struck on the floor, Dorothy thought the pose of superiority Robin now affected the funniest thing, and was not offended when he answered with lofty scorn:

“Carry him? I should say not. We couldn’t and we won’t. I’ll just step to the corner and ring up an ambulance. I know the name. You stay here. I’ll meet it when it comes and don’t get scared when the gong clangs to get out of the way.”

Dorothy’s own life in a southern city returned to her now and she remembered some of its advantages which Robin had spoken of. So she was not at all frightened when she heard the ambulance come into the street beyond the alley, which was too narrow for it to enter, nor when two men in hospital uniforms appeared at the door of the room. They had lanterns and a stretcher and at once placed poor Jack upon it and hurried away.

They needed not to ask questions for Robin had followed them and was glibly explaining all he knew of the “case” and the rest which he had guessed.

“Ate spoiled fish out of a garbage can, did he? So you think it’s ptomaine poisoning, do you Doctor Jack-o’-my-thumb? Well, I shouldn’t be surprised if your diagnosis is correct. Steady now, mate, this is a—Hello! What’s that?”

“That” proved to be Baal, returned to inquire what was being done to his master by prodding the orderly’s legs with his horns, so that the stretcher nearly fell out of his hand.

Baal got his answer by way of a vicious kick which landed him out of reach and permitted the men to carry their burden quickly away. Left behind, the pair of young Samaritans stared for an instant at one another, dismayed at their own delay.

It was Dorothy who came to a decision:

“We’ve done as bad as we could and as good. Seems awful queer how it all happened. Now we must go home. Can we get a carriage anywhere and would it take us back without any money to pay it? Would Miss Tross-Kingdon pay it, do you think? The Bishop would but he’s gone traveling.”

Leaving their candle still flickering on the floor they anxiously left the shanty; and it may be stated here, for the guidance of other careless ones that there was an item in the next morning’s paper stating that a certain “old rookery had been burned down during the night; origin of fire unknown; a benefit to the city for it had long been infested by hoboes and tramps.” To which of these classes poor Jack belonged it did not state; but either one was a far call to the “great artist” he had said he would become.

There were cabs in plenty to be seen and, probably, to be hired; but they did not summon one. A vision of Miss Tross-Kingdon’s face at its sternest rose before Dorothy and she dared not venture on the lady’s generosity. Another thought came, a far happier one:

“I’ll tell you! Let’s follow Jack. Maybe Dr. Winston would be there or somebody would know about us—if we told—and would telephone to Oak Knowe what trouble we’re in. For it is trouble now, Robin Locke, and you needn’t say it isn’t. You’re scared almost to death and so am I. I wish—I wish I’d never heard of a Wax Works, so there!”

Robin stopped and turned her face up to the light of a street lamp they were passing and saw tears in her eyes. That was the oddest thing for her to cry—right here in this familiar city where were railway stations plenty in which they might wait till morning and somebody came. But, softened as her tears made him, he couldn’t yet quite forget that he was the man of the party.

“It’s an awful long ways to that Hospital, and I’ve got five cents left. We can go in anywhere and I can ’phone for myself. No need to bother any doctors or nurses.”

Opposition to her wishes dried her tears.

“Well, I am going to Dr. Winston’s hospital. I’d like you to go with me and show me the way but if you won’t the policemen I meet will do it. I’m going right now.”

That conquered this small Canadian gentleman, and he answered:

“All right. I’ll show you. Only don’t you dare to be crying when you get there.”

She wasn’t. It proved a long walk but help loomed at the end of it and the youngsters scarcely felt fatigue in the prospect of this. Also, the help proved to be just what they most desired. For there was Dr. Winston himself, making his night visit to a very ill patient and almost ready to depart in his car which stood waiting at the door.

Dorothy remembered how little gentlewomen should conduct themselves when paying visits; so after inquiring of the white-clad orderly who admitted her if Dr. Winston was there, and being told that he was, she took her empty purse from her pocket and sent up her card. She would have written Robin’s name below hers if she had had a pencil or—had thought about it.

The tiny card was placed upon a little silver salver and borne away with all the dignity possible; but there was more amazement than dignity in the good doctor’s reception of it. Another moment he was below, buttoning his top-coat as he came and demanding with a smile that was rather anxious:

“To what am I indebted for the pleasure of this visit, Miss Dorothy Calvert?”

But the tears were still too near the girl’s eyes for her to meet jest with jest. She could only hold out her arms, like the lonely, frightened child she was and he promptly clasped her in his own.

Then “tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,” ran a little bell in the Oak Knowe library and over the telephone wire rang the doctor’s hearty voice.

“Be at rest, Miss Muriel. Your runaways are found and I’ll motor them home in a jiffy!”

This was so joyful a message that Lady Jane and the Lady Principal promptly fell upon one another’s neck and wept a few womanly tears. Then Miss Tross-Kingdon released herself, exclaiming:

“Oh! those dreadful police. Why did I violate the privacy of Oak Knowe by setting them to search? I must recall the order right away—if I can!”

Self-blame doesn’t tend toward anybody’s good nature and the head of Oak Knowe School for Young Ladies had been sorely tried. Also, her offense had come from the very girl she trusted most and was, therefore, the more difficult to forgive. So clothing herself in all her dignity, she was simply the Lady Principal and nothing more, when for a second time the quiet of her domain was broken by the honk-honk of an automobile, the door opened and Dorothy and Robin walked in. The doctor had laughingly declared that he couldn’t enter with them—he was afraid! But though it was really only lack of time that prevented him so doing, their own spirits were now so low that they caught the infection of his remark—if not his spirit—and visibly trembled.

This was a sign of guilt and caught Miss Muriel’s eye at once.

“What is the explanation of this, Dorothy? Robin?”

Dorothy had been pondering that explanation on the swift ride home. Dr. Winston had called them the Good Samaritans and seemed pleased with them. Maybe Miss Muriel would think so, too.

“We stayed to see—we had to be what he said. Good little Samaritans—”

“Humph! If that is some new game you have invented, please never to play it again. Your duty—”

“Why, Lady Principal, you wouldn’t have us ‘pass by on the other side,’ would you? To-morrow’s lesson—”

But there was no softening in Miss Muriel’s eye, and indignant Robin flashed out:

“Well—well—you needn’t blame her. You needn’t blame a girl—when it was all my fault! I coaxed her or she wouldn’t ha’ done it!”

This was such a manly, loyal reversion of the old story of Adam and Eve that Lady Jane laughed and would have clapped her hands in pride of her small compatriot. But she refrained and chose the wiser course of slipping away unseen.

“Robin! you forget yourself! I have given you a home here but I have not given you license to be insolent or disobedient. You have been both. Your mother is somewhere on the road to town, looking for you.”

But it happened she was not. Dr. Winston had espied a lone woman dragging herself citywards and had stopped to give her a lift. Then, learning who she was and her errand, had promptly turned about and conveyed her also home; so she was back in their own rooms almost as soon as her boy was and able to soothe his wrath as only mothers can.

But upon poor Dorothy fell the full force of her teacher’s indignation.

“Dorothy, I would not have believed it possible for you so willfully to disappoint me. Go to your dormitory and to bed at once. You cannot go off bounds again till Easter holidays. Good night.”

Dorothy obeyed in silence. She could think of many things to say but she could not say them. Even to anxious Dawkins who would have welcomed her warmly and ministered loving comfort she could only say:

“Good night. It’s such a mixed up world. It was good to help Jack, the doctor said; and it was wrong, Miss Tross-Kingdon said; and—and—I’m so tired! Oh! if I could only see Aunt Betty!”

With that last homesick cry, she laid her head on her pillow, and being a perfectly healthy girl—fell fast asleep.