Billie and the doctor were indeed in something of a quandary as to what to do about Phoebe’s father. It was evident from further inquiry that the tide of general opinion had been turned against Crazy Frenchy; not one soul could be interested in the search for him, not even after an offer of liberal pay.

“He ain’t no good anyhow,” one man said. “He and his daughter holds themselves above common people even when they don’t have enough to keep body and soul together. They lives on property that ain’t theirs by rights, and they don’t belong in this section of the country. The father’s crazy and the neighborhood will be glad to git rid of him.”

“An’ I’d jes’ like to mention,” added another man, “the people as takes up for ’em ain’t goin’ to find it no ways a easy proposition.”

Certainly Lupo had enlisted the sympathies of the entire village in his own behalf.

“I told your friend at the hotel a moment ago,” said the doctor, “that he and Lupo had better be careful how they meddled in this business. If you don’t want to engage yourself to me to find this unfortunate man, you have a perfect right to refuse. It’s only a common act of kindness at any rate. But I would warn you that if you and your friends intend to make trouble, you will get into trouble. That’s all.”

The mountaineer scowled.

“We can prove he set Razor Back on fire,” he said. “He was seen in the neighborhood prowling about with a can of oil yesterday morning.”

“At what time?” demanded Billie quickly.

“I don’t know the exact hour, lady, but it was some time in the forenoon.”“Well,” ejaculated Billie angrily, “that shows how much evidence you have to go upon. There’s not a word of truth in it and you have no right to spread that wicked report founded on a falsehood. Mr. French was at Sunrise Camp just about that time and he couldn’t have got anywhere near Razor Back Mountain in hours. We have a witness to prove what we say.”

“It may not have been forenoon, come to think of it,” said the man doggedly.

“Nonsense,” exclaimed the exasperated Billie, as the “Comet” dashed away with a contemptuous honk-honk, leaving the defeated mountaineer standing in the middle of the road.

Only one person was awake in all the camp when the doctor and Billie returned: Alberdina, busy ironing pink-tinted clothes in the lean-to. Miss Campbell and the girls were napping on the upper porch and Phoebe still slept on a couch in the living room, while Ben and Percy had not returned from their search for news of her father.

“Miss Billie,” remarked the doctor, “if you will be kind enough to fix me up a lunch, I think I’ll pack my knapsack and start on the road again. I can’t say how long I shall be gone, but you mustn’t be uneasy if I don’t get back for a day or two. The boys will look after you and if you have any real trouble, you had better telegraph your father. If possible, try and keep Phoebe right here. Those men will go no further than threats in regard to us. They know we are too powerful for them, but I couldn’t say the same for that poor girl and her father. I suppose jealousy and Lupo’s treachery are the motives behind it. The father does better work than any of them can do and the mountaineers resent the difference between them, whatever it is, birth, breeding, education. But we can’t judge them by the usual standards, of course. They have never had any chances, these people, shut in by this wall of mountains. There is not much inspiration to be charitable and kind, living in one of these little shanties during the long cold winters. It’s a pretty fine nature that doesn’t get warped and narrowed by the life.”

“Phoebe’s didn’t,” thought Billie, while she sliced bread for the doctor’s lunch.

After he had departed with his staff and his telescope and his knapsack, Billie sat down in a steamer chair under the trees and began to think. She lifted her eyes to the wall of mountains now mystical and unreal under their mantle of blue shadow. How could treachery and hatred and jealousy exist where there was so much beauty? It seemed to her that she had only to look about her to be inspired and uplifted; but Billie was too young to realize that it takes more than scenery to furnish that kind of inspiration.

“I am not tired and I am not sleepy,” she thought. “Must I sit here all the afternoon waiting for the others to wake?” She glanced at her watch. “Only a quarter to three. Why can’t I take a walk? It’s against the rules as laid down by papa for women members, but that was only a joke anyhow and I shan’t go far.”

Billie chose a trail they often took after supper for the reason that it was brought to an early finish by the bed of a creek dry in summer, though probably a brave stream in the spring after the thaws. But it was a pretty walk, tunneled through the forest, carpeted with dried pine needles and bordered on either side by ferns.

Strolling along, Billie thought of many things; of the mountain on the other side of Indian Head on which fires had started and where bands of men were now fighting the flames. That was a dreadful thing to do, to set a forest on fire; a crime against nature as well as against man. She thought of Phoebe’s father, perhaps injured, or worse, who could tell? Then with a mental leap she thought of Richard Hook and his sister Maggie; the charm of their personalities; their simplicity; their joy in living. Billie wondered if she could be happy if she were poor, really quite poor. It was rather fun cooking, with Alberdina to clean up after them. It was only for a little while and it was just a sort of game.

“It would be a dog’s life to keep up forever,” thought Billie, “but Richard and Maggie Hook would never admit it. They make the best of being poor and pretend that living like Gypsies is the most delightful way of spending one’s vacation. I think they are just fine. There is Phoebe, too. How well she has got on without anything, education, money, friends. She is wonderful.”

Who was Phoebe? Who was her father? Were they not mysterious people? When the veil was lifted at last, Billie felt convinced that it would disclose no ordinary identity. They had the marks of distinguished people in exile. There was a look of family about them both that no ragged attire could disguise.Toward the end of the trail, Billie saw an old woman hobbling toward her, leaning on a stout stick. She looked remarkably like one of the aged forest trees unexpectedly come to life. A gnarled, brown, weather-beaten old creature she was, who reminded Billie of a dwarfed apple tree she had seen in Japan, a little old bent thing said to have been over two hundred years old. Attached to the woman’s waist was a pocket apron bulging with herbs, camomile and catnip, wood sorrel and sassafras root.

“Now, if Mary were here,” thought Billie, “she would at once make a story of this: ‘The Princess and the Old Witch.’ I am sure Mary would call me a princess,” she added modestly.

When the young girl and the old witch met, they paused without exactly knowing why. The herb gatherer had a strange, small, yellow face, crossed and re-crossed with wrinkles.

“Good afternoon,” said Billie politely, not knowing what else to say.The old woman waved aside this greeting with her stick.

“You come from Sunrise Camp?” she asked in a voice as cracked as her face was wrinkled.

Billie nodded.

“I bring message. You look for somebody?”

“Yes,” replied Billie eagerly.

“You not find him now. Too much enemies.”

“Where is he?” she demanded.

No answer came to this question.

“You will not tell me?”

“No tell,” answered the old creature.

“Is he ill or hurt?”

The herb gatherer touched her forehead.

“He safe,” she answered. “But people not safe who look for him. Too much enemies.”

After that not another word could Billie get out of the obstinate old creature.

Who had sent her? Who was looking after Phoebe’s father, if he were hurt or a prisoner? Could not Phoebe see him? Nothing would she reply to all these questions.

“I’m much obliged for that much anyhow,” said Billie at last. “You must be tired and hungry. Won’t you come back to the camp and let me give you——” she paused to consider. What could an old stunted apple tree like? Somehow it didn’t seem as if she could live on real food. “Will you drink a cup of tea?” she added hastily.

The wrinkled face remained inscrutable.

“Or coffee?”

“Coffee?” repeated the old soul, and suddenly without the faintest warning, smiled and Billie smiled back.

“I can make delicious strong coffee,” announced the girl proudly. “You will come, won’t you?”

“I come,” answered the herb-gatherer. “Coffee? I come!”

They walked briskly back to camp, this ill-assorted couple, and it was not long before Billie had established her companion in a chair under the trees and the coffee pot on the kerosene stove, where it was soon sending out a fragrant aroma.

“Don’t you get very tired gathering herbs on the mountains?” asked Billie, by way of making conversation.

“When I tired, I rest,” answered the other briefly.

Presently Billie brought out a tray with a cup and saucer, sugar and cream and some thin slices of buttered bread. From the upper gallery there came to her the low hum of conversation. The sleepers had awakened and were getting bathed and dressed.

“Do you know Phoebe?” she asked, while she poured the coffee.

The herb-gatherer smacked her lips and sniffed the air expectantly. “I’ve seen her.”

“Don’t you feel sorry for her to lose her father? She is very unhappy.”

“No sugar,” exclaimed the old woman, ignoring the question. “Good!” she exclaimed. “Fine coffee!”Presently Billie poured out another cup and finally another.

“You like coffee, don’t you?” she said.

“This fine coffee.”

“We send away for it. The village coffee is not good.”

“I never tasted the like before.”

“If you will answer me a question,” said Billie suddenly, “I will get my father to send you enough of this coffee to last all winter.”

The old woman picked up the coffee pot and drained it to the last drop.

“If I tell,” she said, warmed and stimulated by the hot drink, “it make lot trouble.”

“Trouble for whom?”

“Much trouble for all.”

“All I am to say to Phoebe then is that her father is in good hands and she is not to look for him?”

The herb-gatherer nodded.

“How soon will he be coming back?”She shook her head and seizing her staff, rose to go.

“Are you a friend of the Lupos?”

There was no answer. Billie tried again.

“Did Mrs. Lupo ever go back to her husband?”

“Lupo very angry. She not go back.”

“She needn’t stay away on our account. My cousin forgave her long ago.”

“I go now,” announced the old woman, not taking the slightest notice of Billie’s remarks.

“I am very much obliged to you for the news of Phoebe’s father. Every time you bring us any news, you may have coffee, and if you show us where he is,—quite secretly, you know,—you shall have a great deal of coffee and money, too.”

“I go now,” repeated the strange old creature, pretending not to understand Billie’s offer, and she promptly took her leave without another word.

Billie gathered up the tray and the coffee things and carried them into the kitchen.“It looks like rain, Alberdina. I think we had better eat indoors to-night,” she said.

Something, perhaps the east wind charged with wet, had made her feel dispirited and uneasy. She was homesick for her father and she wished that Dr. Hume had not gone away. She almost wished they had never set eyes on Phoebe and her father at all. How complicated life had suddenly become! They were just a party of well-meaning campers taking a summer holiday on the mountainside, meaning no harm to anybody on earth; and having done a little kindness to a poor girl and her half-crazed father, they had obtained the enmity of an entire village. How cruel and ignorant these people were! How warped and uncharitable!

“Have Percy and Ben got back yet?” asked Nancy, appearing at the door of the lean-to in a fresh blue linen dress, her hair all dewy from her bath, her eyes bright and clear from the long rest.“Heavens, Nancy, you make me feel like a dusty old shoe,” exclaimed Billie, realizing for the first time that she was tired and hot and crushed. “No, no one has come and Dr. Hume has gone to look for Phoebe’s father.” Then she told Nancy of the experiences of the afternoon.

“If the old woman spoke the truth all we have to do is to lie low and say nothing, like Br’er Rabbit,” said Nancy.

“Do you know what I intend to do, Nancy,” announced Billie, glancing through the open door at Phoebe in the distance on the divan. “Phoebe’s awake. You see she’s sitting up. I am going to set her fears at rest about her father first. Then I’m going to take her upstairs and after she’s bathed, I’ll dress her in some of my things. She shall swallow her pride. Cousin Helen shall ask her to visit us until her father is able to come back, and to-morrow I mean to take her down to the village in the ‘Comet.’ She shall wear my best and only pink linen. Won’t she be stunning? I’m glad I took your advice and brought it along now, and we’ll just show these people that Phoebe is not a poor ragged mountain girl.”

“Take anything of mine you want,” said Nancy generously. “Phoebe’s taller than I am, but she can wear my ‘undies,’ I suppose.”

“I think I have plenty,” replied Billie, “that is, if Alberdina Schoenbachler ever gets through ironing the pink wash.”

Phoebe was a good deal cheered by the message of the old herb gatherer.

“Oh, yes, I know her quite well. She likes me. Once when I had a fever she came and nursed me for several days and gave me herb tea.”

Phoebe also submitted to being dressed up, after a good deal of persuasion.

“You know we are under a great obligation to you and you must give us a chance to get rid of a little of it,” Billie said. “Besides, Dr. Hume said that on no account were you to leave the camp. You wouldn’t like to disobey him, would you?”

“No, no,” Phoebe answered, and finally permitted herself to be led to the women’s quarter of the camp, where for the first time in her life she bathed in a porcelain bath tub, with scented soap and toilet water and sweet smelling talcum powder and violet ammonia and all kinds of women’s luxuries at her service on a hand shelf by the tub.

When Billie proudly led Phoebe downstairs that evening, the others, already gathered around the supper table, were filled with amazement. Instead of the ragged, disheveled mountain girl, they saw a beautiful young woman in a white duck skirt and a muslin blouse. Her throat rose like a slender column from the lace yoke of the blouse and her soft hair was rolled into a loose knot on her neck.

“I know now she is a princess,” said Mary.

Ben and Percy, returned from their search, had brought no news.