 19 Since the pastor from the village had called upon them, the young people of the Stone Barn had been identified with the Little White Church in the Valley. Shirley had taken a class of boys in the Sunday School, and was playing the organ as George had once predicted. Carol was helping the primary teacher, George was assistant librarian and secretary, Harley was in Shirley's class, and Doris was one of the primaries. Shirley had at once identified herself with the struggling Little Christian Endeavor Society, and was putting new life into it, with her enthusiasm, her new ideas about getting hold of the young people of the community, and her wonderful knack of getting the silent ones to take part in the meetings. She had suggested new committees, had invited the music committee to meet her at her home some evening to plan out special music, and to cooperate with the social committee in planning for music at the socials. She always carried a few appropriate clippings, or neatly written verses, or other quotations to meeting, to slip into the hands of some who had not prepared to speak, and she saw to it that her brothers and sisters were always ready to say something. With all, she did her part so unobtrusively that none of the old members could think she was trying to usurp power, or make herself prominent. She became a quiet power behind the powers, to whom the President and all the other officers came for advice, and who always seemed ready to help in any work, or to find a way out of any difficulty. Christian Endeavor in the Little White Church at once took great strides after the advent of the Hollisters, and even the idlers on the street corners were moved with curiosity to drop into the twilight service of the young people and see what went on, and why everybody seemed so interested. But the secret of it all, Shirley thought, was the little five-minute prayer service that the prayer meeting committee held in the tiny primary room just before the regular meeting. Shirley, as chairman of the prayer meeting committee, had started this little meeting, and she always came into the larger room with an exalted look upon her face, and a feeling of strength in her heart from this brief speaking with her master. Shirley was somewhat aghast, the next Sabbath, to have Sidney Graham arrive and ask her to take a ride with him. Why, I was just going to church, she said, half hesitating, and then smiling bravely up at him. Besides, I have a Sunday school class. I couldn't very well leave them, you know. He looked at her for a moment thoughtfully, trying to bridge in his thoughts this difference between them. Then he said quite humbly, will you take me with you? To church, she asked, and there was a glad ring in her voice. Would he really go to church with her? Yes, and to Sunday school if I may, but I haven't been to Sunday school in years. I'd like to go, if you'll only let me. Her cheeks grew rosy. She had a quick mental picture of putting him in Deacon Pettigrew's Bible class. I'm afraid there isn't any class you would enjoy. She began with a troubled look. It's only a little country church, you know. They don't have all the modern system and very few teachers. I should enjoy going into your class very much if I might. Oh! Mine are just boys, just little boys like Harley, said Shirley aghast. I've been a little boy once, you know. I should enjoy it very much," said the applicant with satisfaction. Oh! But I couldn't teach you. There was dismay in her voice. Couldn't you, though? You've taught me more in the few months I've known you than I've learned in that many years from others. Try me. I'll be very good. I'll be a boy with the rest of them, and you can just forget I'm there and go ahead. I really am serious about it. I want to hear what you have to say to them. Oh! I couldn't teach with you there, exclaimed Shirley, putting her hands on her hot cheeks and looking like a frightened little child. Indeed, I couldn't really. I'm not much of a teacher. I'm only a beginner. I shouldn't know how to talk before any but children. He watched her silently for a minute, his face graved with wistfulness. Why do you teach them? He asked rather irrelevantly. Because why? Because I want to help them to live right lives. I want to teach them how to know God. Why? So that they will be saved, because it was Christ's command that his disciples should give the message. I am his disciple, so I have to tell the message. Was there any special stipulation as to whom that message should be given? asked the young man thoughtfully. Did he say you were just to give it to those boys? Well, I know. It was to be given to all the world, every creature. Shirley spoke the words hesitatingly, a dimple beginning to show in her cheeks as her eyelids drooped over her shy eyes. And don't I come in on that? asked Graham with a twinkle that reminded Shirley of his father. Shirley had to laugh shame-facedly then. But I couldn't, said Shirley. I'd be so scared I couldn't think of a thing to say. You're not afraid of me, Miss Shirley. You wouldn't be scared if you thought I really needed to know the message, would you? Well, I really do, as much as any of those kids. Shirley looked steadily into his earnest eyes, and saw something there that steadied her nerve. The laughter died out of her own eyes, and a beautiful light of longing came into them. All right, she said, with a little lift of her chin, as if girding up her strength to the task. You may come, and I will do the best that I can, but I'm afraid it will be a poor best. I've only a little story to tell them this morning. Please give them just what you had intended. I want the real thing, just as a boy would get it from you. Will the rest of them come in the car with us? Shirley was very quiet during the ride to church. She let the rest do all the talking, and she sat looking off at the woods and praying for help, trying to calm the flutter of her frightened heart, trying to steady her nerves, and brace herself to teach the lesson just as she had intended to teach it. She watched him furtively during the opening exercises, the untrained singing, the monotonous prayer of an old farmer elder, the dry platitudes of the illiterate superintendent, but he sat respectfully listening, taking it all for what it was worth. The best service these people knew how to render to the maker. Somehow her heart had gained the strength she needed from the prayers she breathed continually, and when the time for teaching the lesson arrived, she came to her class with quietness. There was a little awe upon the boys because of the stranger in their midst. They did not fling the hymn-books down with a noisy thud, nor send the lesson-leaves flying like winged darts across the room, quite so much as they were want to do. They looked to scant at Harley, who sat proudly by the visitor, supplying him with bibles, hymn-books, lesson-leaves, and finding the place for him officially. But Graham sat among the boys without ostentation, and made as little of his own presence as possible. He smiled at them now and then, put a handful of silver into the collection envelope when they would have passed him by, and promised a ride to one fellow who ventured to ask him hoarsely if that was his car outside the church. Shirley had made up her mind to forget as far as she could the presence of the visitor in the class, and to this end she fixed her eyes upon the worst little boy present, the boy who got up all the disturbances, and made all the noises, and was the most adorable, homely, sturdy young imp the Valley Church could produce. He sat straight across from her, while Graham was at the side, and she could see in Jack's eye that he meant mischief if he could overcome his awe of the stranger. So, before Jack could possibly get started, she began her story, and told it straight to Jack, never taking her eyes from his face from start to finish, and before she was half way through she had her little audience enthralled. It was the story of the Bible told in modern setting, and told straight to the heart of a boy who was the counterpart in his own soul of the man whom Christ cured and forgave. What Graham was thinking, or looking, Shirley did not know. She had literally forgotten his existence after the first few minutes. She had seen the gleam of interest in the eyes of the boy Jack. She knew that her message was going home to a convicted young soul, and that he saw himself in his own childish sins in the sinful life of the hero of her tale. Her whole soul was bent on making him see the Saviour who could make that young life over. Not until the story was almost finished did any one of the listeners, unless perhaps Hurley, who was used to such story recitals, have a suspicion that the story was just a plain ordinary chapter out of the Bible. Then suddenly one of the elder boys broke forth. Ah, gee! That's just the man in the Bible let down through the roof. There was a slight stir in the class at the discovery as it dawned upon them that the teacher had put one over on them again. But the interest for the most part was sustained breathlessly until the superintendent's bell rang, and the heads drew together in an absorbed group around her for the last few sentences, spoken in a lower tone because the general hum of teaching in the room had ceased. Graeme's face was very grave and thoughtful as she finished, and slipped away from them to take her place at the little organ. One could see that it was not in the teacher alone, but in her message as well that he was interested. The boys all had that subdued, half ashamed, half defiant look that boys have when they have been caught looking serious. Each boy frowned and studied his toes or hunted assiduously in his hymn-book to hide his confusion, and the class in various keys lifted up assertive young voices vigorously in the last hymn. Graeme sat beside Shirley in the little crowded church during the rather monotonous service. The regular pastor, who was a good spiritual man, if not a brilliant one, and gave his congregation solid practical sermons, was on his vacation, and the pulpit was supplied by a young theolog who was so new to his work that his sermon was a rather involved effort. But so strong was the power of the Sunday school lesson, to which he had just listened, that Graeme felt as if he was sitting in some hallowed atmosphere. He did not see the red-faced, embarrassed young preacher, nor noticed his struggles to bring forth his message bravely. He saw only the earnest-faced young teacher as she spoke the words of life to her boys. Saw the young, imp-faces of her boys softened and touched by the stories she told. Saw that she really believed and felt every word she spoke, and knew that there was something in it all that he wanted. The seat was crowded and the day was warm, but the two who looked over the same hymn-book did not notice it. The soft air came in from the open window beside them, breathing sweet clover and wild honeysuckle, and the meadowlark sang their songs, and made it seem just a little bit of heaven. Lily's muslin frills trembled against Graeme's hand as she reached to catch a fluttering leaf of the hymn-book that the wind had caught, once her hand had brushed the coat-sleeve beside her as they turned the page, and she felt the soft texture of the fine dark blue goods with a pleasant sense of the beautiful and fitting. It thrilled her to think he was standing thus beside her in her own little church, yielding himself to the same worship with her in the little common country congregation. It was wonderful, and to have come to her, she glanced shyly up at him, so handsome, standing there singing, his hand almost touching hers holding the book. He felt her glance and answered it with a look and smile, their eyes holding each other for just the fraction of a second in which some inner thought was interchanged. Some question asked and answered by the invisible flash of heart-beats, a mutual joining in the spiritual service, and then half frightened, slowly dropped her eyes to the page, and the soft roses stole into her cheeks again. She felt as if she had seen something in his eyes, and acknowledged it in her own, as if she had inadvertently shown him her heart in that glance, and that heart of hers was leaping in bounding with an uncontrollable joy, while her conscience sought by every effort to get it in control. What nonsense, said, what utter folly to make so much of his coming to church with her once? To allow her soul to get into such a flutter over a man who had no more idea of noticing her or caring for her than he had for a bird on the tree. And with all the tumult in her heart she did not even see the envious glances of the village maidens, who stared and stared with all their might at the handsome man who came to church in an expensive car and brought the girl who lived in a barn. Surely social position went up several notches, and she never even knew it. In fact, she was becoming a great puzzle to the residence of Glenside. It was good to know that for once the shabby collection box of the little church was borne back to the altar, laden with a goodly bill, put in with so little ostentation that one might have judged it but a penny, looking on, though even a penny, would have made more noise in the unlined wood box. After the service was over, Graham went out with the children, while surely lingered to play over in accompaniment, for a girl who was going to sing at the Vesper service that afternoon. He piled all the children in the back seat of the car, put the boy he had promised to ride in the seat beside him, took a spin around the streets, and was back in front of the church by the time Shirley came out. Then that foolish heart of hers had to leap again at the thought that he had saved the front seat for her. The boy descended as if he had been caught up into heaven for a brief space and would never forget it the rest of his life. It was that same steady look of trust in understanding in Graham's eyes whenever he looked at her on the way home, and once while the children were talking together in the back seat he leaned toward her and said in a low tone, I wonder if you will let me take you away for a little while this afternoon, to a quiet place I know where there is a beautiful view, and let us sit and talk. There are some things I want to ask you about what you said this morning. I was very much interested in it all, and I'm deeply grateful that you let me go. Now, will you go with me? I'll bring you back in time for the Christian Endeavor Service, and you see in the meantime I'm inviting myself to dinner. Do you think your mother will object? What was there for Shirley to do but accept this alluring invitation? She did not believe in going off on pleasure excursions on the Sabbath, but this request that she ride to a quiet place out of doors for a religious talk could not offend her strongest sense of what was right on the Sabbath day, and surely if the Lord had a message for her to bear, she must bear it to whosoever he sent. This, then, was this man's interest in her, that she had been able to make him think of God. A glad elation filled her heart, something deep and true stirred within her, and lifted her above the thought of self, like a blessing from on high. To be asked to bring light to a soul like this one, this was on her indeed. This was an answer to her prayer of the morning, that she might fulfill God's pleasure, with the lesson of the day. The message, then, had reached his soul. It was enough. She would think no more of self. Yet, whenever she looked at him and met that smile again, she was thrilled with joy in spite of herself. At least there was a friendliness here beyond the common acquaintance, a something that was true, deep, lasting, even though worlds should separate them in the future, a something built on a deep understanding, sympathy, and common interests. Well, so be it. She would rejoice that it had been given to her to know one man of the world in this beautiful way, and her foolish little human heart should understand what a high true thing this was, that must not be misunderstood. So she reasoned with herself, and watched him during the dinner among the children, out in the yard among the flowers and animals. Everywhere he seemed so fine and splendid, so far above all other men that she had ever met. And her mother watching trembled for her when she saw her happy face. Do you think you ought to go with him, daughter? She asked with troubled eyes when they were left alone for a moment after dinner. You know it is the Sabbath, and you know his life is very different from ours. Mother, he wants to talk about the Sunday school lesson this morning, said Shirley, shyly. I guess he's troubled perhaps, and wants me to help him. I guess he has never thought much about religious things. Well, daughter dear, be careful. Do all you can for him, of course. But remember, don't let your heart stray out of your keeping. He is very attractive, dear, and very unconventional for a wealthy man. I think he is true and wouldn't mean to trifle, but he wouldn't realize. I know, mother. Don't you be afraid for me, said Shirley, with a lofty look, half of exaltation, half of proud self-command. He took her to a mossy place beside a little stream, with a light filtered down through the lacy leaves flucking the bank, and braided golden currents in the water, with green and purple hazy hills in the distance, and just enough seclusion for a talk, without being too far away from the world. My little sister says that you people have a real God, he said, when she was comfortably fixed with cushions from the car at her back against a tall tree-trunk. She says you seem to realize his presence. I don't know just how to say it, but I'd like to know if this is so. I'd like to know what makes you different from other girls, and your home different from most of the homes I know. I'd like to know if I may have it too. That was the beginning. Shirley, shy as a bird at first, having never spoken on such subjects except to children, yet being well versed in the scriptures, and feeling her faith with every atom of her being, drew out her little Bible that she had slipped into her pocket when they started, and plunged into the great subject, never had preacher more earnest listener, or more lovely temple in which to preach, and if sometimes the young man's thoughts for a few moments strayed from the subject to rest his eyes in tenderness upon the lovely face of the young teacher, and longed to draw her into his arms, and claim her for his own. He might well have been forgiven. For Shirley was very fair, with the light of other worlds in her face, her eyes all sparkling with her eagerness, her lips aglow with words that seemed to be given her for the occasion. She taught him simply, not trying to go into deep arguments, but urging the only way she knew, the way of taking Christ's promise on its face value, the way of being willing to do his will, trusting it to him to reveal himself, and the truth of the doctrine, and make the believer sure. They talked until the sun sank low, and the calling of the wood-birds warned them that the Endeavour hour was near. Before they left the place, he asked her for the little Bible, and she laid it in his hand with joy that he wanted it, that she was chosen to give him a gift so precious. "'It's all marked up,' she said apologetically. "'I always mark the verses I love, or have had some special experience with. "'It will be that more precious to me,' he said gently, fingering the leaves reverently, and then he looked up and gave her one of those deep looks that seemed to say so much to her heart. And all at once she realized that she was on earth once more, and that his presence and his look were very precious to her. Her cheeks grew pink with the joy of it, and she looked down in confusion and could not answer, so she rose to her feet. But he, springing at once to help her up, kept her hand for just an instant, with earnest pressure, and said in deeply moved tones, "'You don't know what you have done for me this afternoon, my friend?' He waited with her hand in his an instant, as if he were going to say more, but had decided it were better not. The silence was so compelling that she looked up into his eyes, meeting his smile, and that said so many things her heart went into a tumult again, and could not quite come to itself all through the Christian endeavor service. On the way home from the church he talked a little about her vacation, when it came, how long it lasted, what she would do with it. Just as they reached home he said, "'I hope you will pray for me, my friend.' There was something wonderful in the way he said that word, friend. It thrilled her through and through as she stood beside the road, and watched him speed away into the evening. "'My friend, I hope you will pray for me, my friend.' It sang a glory song down in her heart as she turned to go in with the vivid glory of the sunset on her face." CHAPTER XX. The cement floor had been down a week, and was as hard as a rock, when one day two or three wagon-loads of things arrived with a note from Graham to Mrs. Hollister, to say that he would be glad if these might be stored in one corner of the basement floor where they would be out of her way and not take up too much room. Harley and George went down to look them over that evening. He said something about some things being taken from the office building, said Harley, kicking a pile of iron pipes with his toe. "'These don't look like any old things that have been used,' said George thoughtfully. They look perfectly new.' Then he studied them a few minutes more, from another angle, and shut his lips judiciously. He belonged to the boy-species that has learned to shut up and saw wood, whatever that expression may mean. If anything wants to come out of that pile of iron in the future he did not mean to break confidence with anybody's secrets. He walked away whistling and said nothing further about them. The next day Mrs. Graham came down upon the Hollisters in her limousine and an exquisite toilet of organ-dee and ribbons. She was attended by Elizabeth, wild with delight over getting home again. She begged Mrs. Hollister very charmingly and sincerely to take care of Elizabeth for three or four weeks while she and her husband were away, and to take her entire family down to the shore and occupy their cottage, which had been closed all summer and needed opening and airing. She said that nothing would please Elizabeth so much as to have them all her guests during September. The maids were there with nothing to do but look after them, and would just love to serve them. It really would be a great favor to her if she could know that Elizabeth was getting a little salt air under such favorable conditions. She was so genuine in her request, and suggested so earnestly that Shirley and George needed the change during their vacation, and could just as well come down every night and go up every morning for a week or two more after the vacations were over, that Mrs. Hollister actually promised to consider it and talk it over with Shirley when she came home. Elizabeth and Carol nearly went into spasms of joy over the thought of all they could do down at the shore together. When Shirley came home, she found the whole family quite upset discussing the matter. Carol had brought out all the family wardrobe and was showing how she could wash this and dye that, and turned this skirt upside down and put a piece from the old waste in there to make the lower part flare, and Harley was telling how he could get the man next door to look after the hens and pigeons, and there was nothing needing much attention in the garden now, for the corn was about over except the last picking, which wasn't ripe yet. Mrs. Hollister was saying that they ought really to stay at home and look up another place to live during the winter, and Carol was pleading that another place would be easier found when the weather was cooler anyway, and that Shirley was just awfully tired and needed a change. Supper was flung on to the table that night any way it happened, for they were all too excited to know what they were about. Carol got buttered twice and forgot to cut the bread, and Harley poured milk into the already filled water-pitcher. They were even too excited to eat. Graeme arrived with Elizabeth early in the evening to add his pleading to his mother's, and before he left he had about succeeded in getting Mrs. Hollister's promise that she would go. Shirley's vacation began the first of September, and George had asked for his at the same time so that they could enjoy it together. Each had two weeks. Graeme said that the cost of going back and forth to the city for the two would be very little. By the next morning they had begun to say what they would take along and to plan what they would do with the dog. It was very exciting. There was only a week to get ready, and Carol wanted to make bathing suits for everyone. Graeme came again that night with more suggestions. There were plenty of bathing suits down at the cottage of all sizes and kinds. No need to make bathing suits. The dog, of course, was to go along. He needed to change as much as anybody, and they needed him there. That breed of dog was a great swimmer. He would take care of the children when they went in bathing. How would Mrs. Hollister like to have one of the old graeme servants come over to sleep at the barn and look after things while they were gone? The man had really nothing to do at home while everybody was away, as the whole corps or servants would be there, and this one would enjoy coming out to the country. He had a brother living on a place about a mile away. As for the trip down there, Graeme would love to take them all in the big touring car with Elizabeth. He had been intending to take her down that way, and there was no reason in the world why they should not all go along. They would start Saturday afternoon, as soon as Shirley and George were free, and be down before bedtime. It would be cool and delightful journeying at that hour, and a great deal pleasanter than the train. So one by one the obstructions and hindrances were removed from their path, and it was decided that the Hollisters were to go to the seashore. At last the day came. Shirley and George went off in the morning shouting last directions about things. They were always having to go to their work whatever was happening. It was sometimes hard on them, particularly this day when everything was so delightfully exciting. The old graeme servant arrived about three o'clock in the afternoon and proved himself invaluable in doing the little last things without being told. Mrs. Hollister had her first gleam of an idea of what it must be to have plenty of perfectly trained servants about, to anticipate one's needs. He entered the barn as if barns were his native heath, and moved about with the ease and unobtrusiveness that marks a perfect servant, but with none of the hauteur and disdain that many of those individuals entertain toward all whom they consider poor, or beneath them in any way. He had a kindly face, and seemed to understand just exactly what was to be done. Things somehow moved more smoothly after he arrived. At four o'clock came graeme with the car and a load of long linen dust cloaks and veils. The Hollisters donned them and bestowed themselves where they were told. The servants stowed away the wraps and suitcases, star-mounted the seat beside Harley, and they were ready. They turned to look back at the barn as the car started. The old servant was having a little trouble with the big door trying to shut it. That door is a nuisance, said graeme, as they swept away from the curb. It must be fixed. It is no fit door for a barn, anyway. Then they curved up around Allister Avenue and left the barn far out of sight. They were going across country to the graeme home to pick up Elizabeth. It was a wonderful experience for them, that beautiful ride in the late afternoon. And when they swept into the great gates and up the broad drive to the graeme mansion, and stopped unto the portico chair, Mrs. Hollister was quite overcome with the idea of being beholden to people who lived in such grandeur as this, to think she had actually invited their son to dine in a barn with her. Elizabeth came rushing out eagerly, all ready to start, and climbed in beside Carol. Even George, who was usually silent when she was about, gave her a grin of welcome. The father and mother came out to say goodbye, gave them good wishes, and declared they were perfectly happy to leave their daughter in such good hands. Then the car curved about the great house among tennis courts, greenhouses, garage, stable, and what not, and back to the pike again, leaping out upon the perfect road, as if it were as excited as the children. Two more stops to pick up George who was getting off early, and Shirley who was through at five o'clock, and then they threaded their way out of the city, across the ferry, through another city, and out into the open country, dotted all along the way with clean, pretty little towns. They reached a lovely grove at sundown, and stopped by the way to have supper. Graeme got down and made George help him get out the big hamper. There was the most delectable lunch. Sandwiches of delicate and unknown condiments, salad as bewildering, soup that had been kept hot in a thermos bottle, served in tiny white cups, iced tea and ice cream meringues from another thermos compartment, and plenty of delicious little cakes, olives, nuts, bonbons, and fruit. It seemed a wonderful supper to them all, eating out there under the trees, with the birds beginning their vesper songs, and the stars peeping out slyly. Then they packed up their dishes, and hurried on their beautiful way, a silver thread of a moon coming out to make the scene more lovely. Doris was almost asleep when at last they began to hear the booming of the sea and smell the salt breeze as it swept back inland. But she roused up in opened wide, mysterious eyes, peering into the new darkness and murmuring softly, "'I want to see the ocean! I want to see the gate be water!' Stiff, bewildered, filled with ecstasy, they finally unloaded in front of a big white building that looked like a hotel. They tried to see into the deep, mysterious darkness across the road where boomed a great voice that called them, and where dashing spray loomed high like a waving phantom hand to beckon them now and again, and far-moving lights told of ships and a world beyond the one they knew, a wide, limitless thing like eternity, universe, chaos. With half-reluctant feet they turned away from the mysterious unseen lure, and let themselves be let across an unbelievably wide veranda into the bright light of a hall where everything was clean and shining, and a great fireplace filled with friendly flames gave cheer and welcome. The children stood bewildered in the brightness, while two strange serving-maids unfastened their wraps and dust cloaks, and helped them take off their hats. Then they all sat around the fire, for Graham had come in by this time, and the maids brought trays of some delicious drink with little cakes and crackers, and tinkling ice and straws to drink with. Doris almost fell asleep again, and was carried upstairs by Shirley and put to bed in a pretty white crib she was too sleepy to look at, while Carol, Elizabeth, George, and Harley went with Graham across the road to look at the black, yawning cavern they called Ocean, and to have the shore-lighthouses pointed out to them and named one by one. They were all asleep at last, a little before midnight, in spite of the excitement over the spacious rooms and who should have which. Think of it, thirty rooms in the house, and every one as pretty as every other one, what luxury, and nobody to occupy them but themselves. Carol could hardly get to sleep. She felt as if she had dropped into a novel and was living it. When Graham came out of his room the next morning, the salt breeze swept invitingly through the hall and showed him the big front door of the Upper Piazza, open and someone standing in the sunlight, with light glowing garments gazing at the sea in wrapped enjoyment. Coming out softly he saw that it was Shirley dressed in white, with a ribbon of blue at her waist, and a soft pink color in her cheeks, looking off to sea. He stood for a moment to enjoy the picture, and said in his heart that sometime, if he got his wish, he would have her painted so by some great artist, with just that little simple white dress and blue ribbon, her round white arm lifted, her small hand shading her eyes, the sunlight burnishing her brown hair into gold. He could scarcely refrain from going to her and telling her how beautiful she was, but when he stepped quietly up beside her only his eyes spoke, and brought the color deeper into her cheeks, and so they stood for some minutes looking together and drawing in the wonder of God's sea. This is the first time I've seen it, you know, spoke Shirley at last, and I'm so glad it was on Sunday morning. It will always make the day seem more holy, and the sea more wonderful to think about. I like best things to happen on Sunday, don't you? Because that is the best day of all. Graham looked at the sparkling sea, all azure and pearls, realized the Sabbath quiet, and marveled at the beauty of the soul of the girl, even as her feeling about it all seemed to enter into and become a part of himself. Yes, I do, said he. I never did before, but I do now. And always shall, he added under his breath. That was almost as wonderful as Sabbath as the one they had spent in the woods a couple of weeks before. They walked and talked by the sea, and they went to a little episcopal chapel where the window stood open for the chanting of the waves and the salt of the breeze to come in freely. And then they went out and walked by the sea again. Wherever they went, whether resting in some of the many big rockers on the broad verandahs, or walking on the hard smooth sand, or sitting in some cozy nook by the waves, they felt the same deep sympathy, the same conviction that their thoughts were one. The same wonderful thrill of the day and each other's nearness. Somehow in this new environment, Shirley forgot for a little that this young man was not of her world, that he was probably going back soon to the city to enter into a world of the winter season in society. That other girls would claim his smiles and attentions, and she would likely be forgotten. She lost the sense of it entirely, and companioned with him as joyously as if there had never been anything to separate them. Her mother, looking on, sighed, feared, smiled, and sighed again. They walked together in the sweet darkness beside the waves that evening, and he told her how, when he was a little boy, he wanted to climb up to the stars and find God. But later how he thought the stars and God were myths, like Santa Claus, and that the stars were only electric lights put up by men, and lighted from a great switch every night, and when they didn't shine somebody had forgotten to light them. He told her many things about himself that he had never told to anyone before, and she opened her shy heart to him, too. Then they planned what they would do next week when he came back. He told her he must go back to the city in the morning to see his father and mother off, and attend to a few matters of business at the office. It might be two or three days before he could return, but after that he was coming down to take a little vacation himself if she didn't mind, and they would do a lot of delightful things together, row, fish, go crabbing, and he would teach her to swim, and show her all the walks and the favorite places where he used to go as a boy. Reluctantly they went in, his fingers lingering about hers for just a second at the door, vibrating those mysterious hot strings of hers again, swiping dearest music from them, and frightening her with joy that took her half the night to put down. CHAPTER XXI Sydney Graham went back to the city the next morning. They all stood out on the piazza to watch the big car glide away. Doris stood on the railing of the piazza, with Shirley's arm securely about her, and waved a little fat hand. Then, with a pucker of her lip, she demanded, "'Fight as mine, Mr. Dwayne Dewey. I don't yon't him to Dewey. I yon't him to stay with me always. Don't, oh, Shirley!' Shirley, with glowing cheeks, turned from watching the retreating car, and put her little sister down on the floor suddenly. "'Run and get your hat, Doris, and we'll take a walk on the sand,' she said, smiling alluringly at the child, till the baby forgot her grievance, and beamed out with answering smiles. That was a wonderful day. They all took a walk on the sand first, George pushing his mother in a big wheeled chair belonging to the cottage. Elizabeth was guide, and pointed out all the beauties of the place, telling eager bits of reminiscence from her childhood memories, to which even George listened attentively. From having been only tolerant of her, George had now come to look upon Elizabeth as a good scout. When Mrs. Hollister grew tired, they took her back to the cottage and established her in a big chair with a book. Then they all rushed off to the bathhouses, and presently emerged in bathing suits, Doris looking like a little sprite in her scarlet flannel scrap of a suit, her bright hair streaming, and her beautiful baby arms and legs flashing white like a cherub in the sunlight. They came back from their dip in the wave, hungry and eager to the wonderful dinner that was served so exquisitely in the great cool dining-room, from the windows of which they could watch the lazy ships sailing in the offing. Doris fell asleep over her dessert, and was tumbled into the hammock to finish her nap. Carol and Elizabeth and the boys started off crabbing, and Shirley settled herself in another hammock, with a pile of new magazines about her, and prepared to enjoy a whole afternoon of laziness. It was so wonderful to lie still, at leisure and unhurried, with all those lovely magazines to read, and nothing to disturb her. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes for a minute, just to listen to the sea, and realize how good it was to be here. Back in her mind there was a pleasant consciousness of the beautiful yesterday and the beautiful tomorrows that might come when Sidney Graham returned, but she would not let her heart dwell upon them. That would be humoring herself too much, and perhaps give her a false idea of things. She simply would not let this wonderful holiday be spoiled by the thought that it would have to end some day, and that she would be back at the old routine of care and worry once more. She was roused from her reverie by the step of the postman, bringing a single letter for her. It was addressed in an unknown hand, and was in a fat-long envelope. Wonderingly she opened it and found inside a bank-book, and blank check-book, with a little note on which was written. Dear little girl, this is just a trifle of that present we were talking about the other day that belongs to you. It isn't all by any means, but we'll see to the rest later. Spend this on chocolates or chewing gum or frills, or whatever you like, and have a good time down at the shore. You're a bully little girl, and deserve everything nice that's going. Don't be too serious, Miss Shirley. Play a little more. Your elderly friend, Walter K. Graham. In the bank-book was an entry of five thousand dollars on check account. Shirley held her breath and stared at the figures with wide eyes, then slipped away and locked herself in the big white room that was hers. Nealing down by the bed, she cried and prayed and smiled all in one, and thanked the Lord for making people so kind to her. After that she went to find her mother. Mrs. Hollister was sitting on the wide Appa Piazza in a steamer chair looking off to sea, and drawing a new life at every breath. Her book was open on her lap, but she had forgotten to read in the joy of all that was about her. To tell the truth she was wondering if the dear father who was gone from them knew of their happy estate, and thinking how glad he would be for them if he did. She read the letter twice before she looked at the bank-book, with its astonishing figures, and heard again Shirley's tale of the happening in the office the morning of the arrest. Then she read the letter once more. I'm just not sure, daughter. She said at last with a smile, what we ought to do about this, are you? No, said Shirley, smiling. I suppose I'll give it back. But wasn't it wonderful of him to do it? Isn't it grand that there are such men in the world? It certainly is, dear, and I'm glad my little girl was able to do something that was of assistance to him, and that she has won her way into his good graces so simply and sweetly, but I'm not so sure what you ought to do. Hadn't we better pray about it a bit before you decide? How soon ought you to write to him? It's too late to reach him before he leaves for California, isn't it? Oh, yes. He's just about starting now, said the girl. Don't you suppose he planned it so that I couldn't answer right away? I don't know his address. I can't do a thing till I find out where to write. I wouldn't like to send it to the office, because they would probably think it was business, and his secretary might open it. Of course. Then we'll just pray about it, shall we, dear? I'm not so sure in my mind whether it's well-meant bit of charity that we ought to hand back with sincere thanks, or whether it's God's way of rewarding my little girl for her faithfulness and quickness of action. Our father knows we have been and still are in a hard place. He knows that we have need of all these things that money has to buy. You really did a good thing and saved Mr. Graham from great loss, you know, and perhaps he's the kind of man who would feel a great deal happier if he shared a little of it with you, was able to make some return for what you did for him. However, five thousand dollars is a great deal of money for a brief service. What do you think, dear? I don't know, Mother, dear. I'm all muddled just as you say, but I guess it will come right if we pray about it. Anyhow, I'm going to be happy over his thinking of me, whether I keep it or not. Shirley went thoughtfully back to her hammock and her magazines, a smile on her lips, a dream in her eyes. She found herself wondering whether Sidney Graham knew about this money and what he would wish her to do about it. Then suddenly she cast the whole question from her and plunged into her magazine, wondering why it was that almost any question that came into her mind promptly got around and entangled itself with Mr. Sidney Graham. What did he have to do with it, anyway? The magazine story was very interesting, and Shirley soon forgot everything else in the pleasure of surrendering herself to the printed page. An hour went by, another passed, and Shirley was still oblivious to all about her. Suddenly she became aware of a boy on a bicycle, riding almost up to the very steps and whistling vigorously. Miss Shirley hollers to hear. He demanded, as he alighted on one foot on the lower step, the other foot poised for flight as soon as his errands should have been performed. Why, yes, said Shirley startled, struggling to her feet and lighting a shower of magazines fall all about her. Long distance, once here! He announced, looking her over apathetically, Mr. Barnard of Philadelphia wants to talk to you. And with the final word chanted nasally, he alighted upon his obedient steed and spun away down the walk again. But wait! Where shall I go? Where is the telephone? Pays station! shouted the impervious child turning his head over his shoulder. Drunk store! Two blocks from the post office. Without waiting to go upstairs, Shirley, whose training had been to answer the telephone at once, caught up Elizabeth Parasol that lay on a settee by the door, rumpled her fingers through her hair by way of toilet, and hurried down the steps in the direction the boy had disappeared, wondering what in the world Mr. Barnard could want of her. Was he going to call her back from her vacation? Was this perhaps the only day she would have? This in yesterday? They would always be yesterday. With a sigh she looked wistfully at the sea. If she had known a summons was to come so soon, she would not have wasted a second on magazines. She would have sat and gazed all afternoon at the sea. If Mr. Barnard wanted her, of course, she would have to go. Business was business, and she couldn't afford to lose her job, even with that fairy dream of five thousand dollars to her credit in the bank. She knew, of course, she meant to give that back. It was hers for the day, but it could not become tangible. It was beautiful, but it was right that it must go back. And if her employer felt he must cut short her vacation, why, of course, she must acquiesce, and just be glad she had had this much. Perhaps it was just as well, anyway. For as Sidney Graham came down and spent a few days, there was no knowing what foolish notions her heart would take, jumping and careening the way it had been doing lately, when he just looked at her. Yes, she would go back if Mr. Barnard wanted her. It was the best thing she could do, though perhaps he would only be calling her to ask where she had left something for which they were searching. That stupid Ashton girl who took her place might not have remembered all her directions. Breathless, with possibilities crowding upon her mind, she hurried into the drug store and sought the telephone booth. It seemed ages before the connection was made, and she heard Mr. Barnard's dry, familiar tones over the phone. That you, Miss Hollister? This is Mr. Barnard. I'm sorry to disturb you right in the midst of your holiday, but a matter has come up that is rather serious, and I'm wondering if you could help us out for a day or two. If you would, we'd be glad to give you fifty dollars for the extra time, and let you extend your vacation to a month instead of two weeks. Do you think you could spare a day or two to help us right away? Oh! Why, yes, of course, faltered Shirley, her eyes dancing at the thought of the extra vacation and money. Thank you. I was sure you would, said Mr. Barnard, with relief in his voice. You see, we have got that government contract. The news just came in the afternoon mail. It's rather particular business, because it has to do with matters that the government wishes to keep secret. I am to go down tomorrow morning to Washington, to receive instructions, and I have permission to bring a trusted private secretary with me. Now you know, of course, that I couldn't take Miss Ashton. She wouldn't be able to do what I want done, even if she were one I could trust not to say a word about the matter. I would take Jim Thorpe, but his father has just died, and I can't very well ask him to leave. Neither can I delay longer than tomorrow. Now the question is, would you be willing to go to Washington in the morning? I have looked up the trains, and I find you can leave the shore at eight ten and meet me in Baltimore at ten o'clock. I will be waiting for you at the train gate, but in case we miss each other, wait in the station close to the telephone booths till I find you. We will take the next train for Washington, and be there a little before noon. If all goes well, we ought to be through our business in plenty of time to make a four o'clock train home. Of course there may be delays, and it is quite possible you might have to remain in Washington overnight, though I hardly think so. But, in case you do, I will see that you are safe and comfortable in a quiet hotel near the station, where my wife's sister is staying this summer. Of course your expenses will all be paid. I will telegraph and have a mileage book put at your disposal that you can call for, right there in your station in the morning. Are you willing to undertake this for us? I assure you we shall not forget the service. When Shirley finally hung up the receiver, and looked about the little country drugstore in wonder at herself, the very bottles on the shelves seemed to be whirling and dancing about before her eyes. What strange, exciting things were happening to her, all in such breathless haste. Only one day at the shore, and a piece of another, and here she was with a trip to Washington on her hands. It certainly was bewildering to have things come in such rapid succession. She wished it had come at another time, and not just now when she had not yet got used to the Great Sea and the wonder of the beautiful place where they were staying. She did not want to be interrupted just yet. It would not be quite the same when she got back to it she was afraid. But, of course, she could not refuse. It never entered her head to refuse. She knew enough about the office to realize that Mr. Barnard must have her. Jimmy Thawpe would have been the one to go if he were available because he was a man and had been with Barnard and Clegg for ten years and knew all the most confidential business. But, of course, Jimmy could not go with his father lying dead and his mother and invalid sister needing him, and there was no one else but herself. She thought it all out on the way back to the cottage, with a little paying at the thought of losing the next day and of having perhaps to stay over in Washington a day and maybe miss the arrival of Sidney Graham if he should come in a day or two as he had promised. He might even come and go back again before she was able to return, and perhaps he would think her ungrateful to leave when he had been so kind to plan all this lovely vacation for her pleasure. Then she brought herself up smartly and told herself decidedly that it was nothing to him whether she was there or not, and it certainly had no right to be anything to her. It was a good thing she was going, and would probably be a good thing for all concerned if she stayed until he went back to the city again. With this firm determination she hurried up to the veranda where her mother sat with Doris and told her story. Mrs. Hollister looked troubled. I'm sorry you gave him an answer surely, without waiting to talk it over with me. I don't believe I like the idea of your going to a strange city all alone that way. Of course, Mr. Barnard will look after you in a way, but still he's a good deal of a stranger. I do wish he had let you alone for your vacation. It seems as if he might have found somebody else to go. I wish Mr. Graham was here. I shouldn't wonder if he would suggest some way out of it for you, but surely stiffened into dignity at once. Really, mother dear? I'm sure I don't see what Mr. Graham would have to say about it if he were here. I shouldn't ask his advice. You see, mother, really, there isn't anybody else that could do this but Jimmy Thorpe, and he's out of the question. It would be unthinkable that I should refuse in this emergency, and you know Mr. Barnard has been very kind. Besides, think of the ducky vacation I'll have after it, a whole month, and all that extra money. That shall go to the rent of a better house for winter. Think of it. Don't you worry, mother dear? There isn't a thing in the world could happen to me. I'll be the very most discreetest person you ever heard of. I'll even glance shyly at the White House and Capitol. Come, let's go up and get dolled up for supper. Won't the children be surprised when they hear I'm really to go to Washington? I'm so excited I don't know what to do. Mrs. Hollister said no more and entered pleasantly into the merry talk at the table, telling Shirley what she must be sure to see at the nation's Capitol, but the next morning, just as Shirley was about to leave for the station, escorted by all the children, Mrs. Hollister came with a package of addressed postal cards, which she had made George get for her the night before, and put them in Shirley's bag. Just drop us a line as you go along, dear, she said. I'll feel happier about it to be hearing from you. Mail one whenever you have the chance. Shirley laughed as she looked at the fat package. All those, mother dear, you must expect I am going to stay a month. You know I won't have much time for writing, and I fully expect to be back to-night or to-morrow at the latest. Well, that's all right, said her mother. You can use them another time then, but you can just put a line on one whenever it is convenient. I shall enjoy getting them even after you get back. You know this is your first journey out into the world alone. Shirley stooped to kiss the little mother. All right, dear, I'll write you a serial story. Each one continued in our next. Goodbye. Don't take too long a walk today. I want you rested here all I'll have to tell you when I get back to-night. Shirley wrote the first postal card as soon as she was settled in the train, describing the other occupants of the car and making a vivid picture of the landscape that was slipping by her windows. She wrote the second in the Baltimore Station after she had met Mr. Barnard while he went to get seats in the Polar car, and she mailed them both at Baltimore. The third was written as they neared Washington, with the dim vision of the great monument dawning on her wandering sight in the distance. Her last sentence gave her first impression of the nation's capital. They had eaten lunch in the dining-car, a wonderful experience to the girl, and she promised herself another postal devoted to that. But there was no time to write more after they reached Washington. She was put into a taxi and whirled away to an office where her work began. She caught glimpses of great buildings on the way, and gazed with awe at the dome of the capital building. Mr. Barnard was kind, and pointed out this and that, but it was plain his mind was on the coming interview. When Shirley sat at last in a quiet corner of a big dark office, her pen poised her notebook ready for work, and looked at the serious faces of the men in the room. She felt as if she had been rushed through a treasure vault of glorious jewels and thrust into the darkness of a tomb. But presently the talk about her interested her. Things were being said about the vital interests of the country. Scraps of sentences that reminded her of the trend of talk in the daily papers, and the headings of front columns. She looked about her with interest, and noted the familiarity with which these men quoted the words of those high up in authority in the government. With awe she began her work, taking down whatever Mr. Barnard dictated, her fingers flying over the tiny pages of the notebook in small neat characters, keeping pace with the voices going on about her. The detail work she was setting down was not of a special interest to her, save that it was concerned with government work, for its phraseology was familiar, and a part of her daily routine office work at home. But she set every sense on the alert to get the tiniest detail and not to make the smallest mistake, understanding from the voices of the men about her that it was a vital interest to the country that this order should be filled quickly and accurately, as she capped her fountain pen and slipped the rubber band on her notebook when it was over. She heard one of the men just behind her saying a low tone to Mr. Barnard. You're sure of your secretary, of course. I just want to give you the tip that this thing is being very closely watched. We have reason to believe there's some spying planned. Keep your notes carefully, and don't let too many in on this. We know pretty well what's going on, but it's not desirable just now to make any arrests, until we can watch a little longer and round up the whole party. So keep your eyes peeled and don't talk. Oh, certainly, I quite understand," said Mr. Barnard, and I have a most discreet secretary, and he glanced with a significant smile towards Shirley as she rose. Of course," said the other, she looks it, and he bowed deferentially to Shirley as she passed. She did not think of it at the time, but afterwards she recalled how in acknowledging his courtesy she had stepped back a little and almost stumbled over a page, a boy about George's age, who had been standing withdrawn into the shadow of the deep window. She remembered he had a keen intelligent look, and had apologized and vanished immediately. A moment later it seemed to be the same boy in blue clothes and gilt buttons, who held the outer door open for them to pass out. Oh, was this a taller one? She glanced again at his side face with a lingering thought of George as she paused to fasten her glove and slip her notebook into her handbag. I think I will put you into the taxi and let you go right back to the station while I attend to another errand over at the war department. It won't take me long. We can easily catch that four o'clock train back. I suppose you are anxious to get back tonight. Oh, yes," said Shirley earnestly. I must, if possible. Mother isn't well, and she worries so easily. Well, I don't know why we can't. Then perhaps you can come up to town tomorrow and type those notes for us. By the way, I guess it would be better for me to take them and lock them in the safe tonight. No, don't stop to get them out now, as Shirley began to unfasten her bag and get the notebook out. We have it much time if we want to catch that train. Just look after them carefully, and I'll get them when we are on the train. He helped her into the taxi, gave the order, to the station, and touching his hat went rapidly over to the war department building. No one saw a boy with a blue cap and brass buttons still forth on a bicycle from the court just below the office, and circling about the asphalt uncertainly for a moment, shoot off across the park. Shirley sat up very straight, and kept her eyes about her. She was glad they were taking another way to the station, so that she might see more. When she got there she would write another postal, and perhaps it would go on the same train with her. It was all too short that right up Pennsylvania Avenue and around by the capital Shirley gathered up her bag and prepared to get out reluctantly. She wished she might have just one more hour to go about, but of course that would be impossible if she wished to reach home to-night. But before the driver of the car could get down and open the door for her to get out, a boy with a bicycle slid up to the curb and touching his guilt-button cap respectfully said, "'Excuse me, Miss, but Mr. Barnard sent me after you. He says there's been some mistake, and you'll have to come back and get it corrected.' "'Oh!' said Shirley, too surprised to think for a minute. "'Oh! Then please hurry, for Mr. Barnard wants to get back in time to get that four o'clock train.' The driver frowned, but the boy stepped up and handed him something saying, "'That's all right, Joe. He sent you this.' The driver's face cleared, and he started his machine again. The boy vanished into the throng. It was another of Shirley's after-memories, that she had caught a glimpse of a scrap of paper along with the money the boy had handed the driver, and he had stuffed it in his pocket after looking intently at it, but at the time she thought nothing of it, she was only glad that they were skimming along rapidly. CHAPTER XXII Shirley's sense of direction had always been keen. Even as a child she could tell her way home when others were lost. It was some minutes, however, before she suddenly became aware that the car was being driven in an entirely different direction from the place she had just left Mr. Barnard. For a moment she looked around puzzled, thinking the man was merely taking another way around, but a glance back where the white dome of the capital loomed palace-like above the city made her sure that something was wrong. She looked at the buildings they were passing, at the names of the streets. F Street. They had not been on that before. These stores and tall buildings were all new to her eyes. Down there at the end of the vista was a great building all columns. Was that the Treasury, and were they merely seeing it from another angle? It was all very confusing, but the time was short. Why had the man not taken the shorter way? She looked at her small wristwatch anxiously, and watched eagerly for the end of the street. But before the great building was reached the car suddenly curved around a corner to the right, one block, a turn to the left, another turn, a confusion of new names and streets. New York Avenue, Connecticut Avenue, Thomas Circle, the names spun by so fast she could read but few of them, and though she saw she wanted to remember that she might weave them into her next postal, she opened her bag, fumbled for her little silver pencil in the pocket of her coat, and scribbled down the names she could read as she passed, on the back of the bundle of postal cards, and without looking at her She did not wish to miss a single sight. Here were rows of homes, pleasant and palatial, some of them even cozy. The broad avenues were enchanting, the park spaces, the lavish scattering of noble statues. But the time was hastening by, and they were going farther and farther from the station, and from the direction of the offices where she had been. She twisted her neck once more, and the capital dome loomed soft and blended in the distance. A thought of alarm leaped into her mind. She leaned forward and spoke to the driver. "'You understood, didn't you, that I am to return to the office where you took me with the gentleman?' The man nodded. "'All right, lady. Yes, lady.' And the car rushed on, leaping out upon the beautiful way, and disclosing new beauties ahead. For a few minutes more Shirley was distracted from her anxiety in wondering whether the great buildings on her right belonged to any of the embassies or not. And then, as the car swerved and plunged into another street, and darted into a less thickly populated district, with trees and vacant lots, almost like the country, alarm arose once more, and she looked wildly back, and tried to see the signs, but they were going faster still now upon a wide empty road, past stretches of park, with winding drives and charming views, and a great stone bridge to the right, arching over a deep ravine below, a railroad crossing it. There were deer parks fenced with high wire and filled with pretty creatures. Everything went by so fast that Shirley hardly realized that something really must be wrong, before she seemed to be in the midst of strange world aloof. "'I am sure you have made a mistake.' The girl's clear voice cut through the driving wind as they rushed along. "'I must go back right away to that office from which you brought me. I must go at once. I shall be too late for my train. The gentleman will be very angry.' She spoke in the tone that always brought instant obedience from the employees around the office building at home. But the driver was stallid. He scarcely stirred in his seat to turn toward her. His thick voice was brought back to her on the breeze. "'No, lady. It's all right, lady. I had my orders, lady. You needn't to worry. I get you there plenty of time.' A wild fierce seized Shirley, and her heart lifted itself as was its habit, to God. "'Oh, my father! Take care of me. Help me. Show me what to do,' she cried. Thoughts rushed through her brain as fast as the car rushed over the ground. What was she up against? Was this man crazy or bad? Was he perhaps trying to kidnap her? What for?' She shuddered to look the thought in the face. Oh, was it the notes? She remembered the men in the office and what they had said about keeping still and spying enemies. But perhaps she was mistaken. Maybe this man was only stupid, and it would all come out right in a few minutes. But no. She must not wait for anything like that. She must take no chance. The notes were in her keeping. She must put them where they would be safe. No telling how soon she would be overpowered and searched, if that was what they were after. She must hide them, and she must think of some way to send word to Mr. Barnard before it was too late. No telling what moment they would turn from the main road, and she be hidden far from human habitation. She must work fast. What could she do? Scream to the next passer-by? No, for the car was going too fast for that to do any good, and the houses up this way seemed all to be isolated and few people about. They wore houses on ahead beyond the park. She must have something ready to throw out when they came to them. Oh, God, help me think what to do, she prayed again, and then, looking down at her bag, she saw the postal cards. Just the thing. Quickly she scribbled, still holding her hand within the bag so that her movements were not noticeable. Help! Quick! Being carried off! Auto! Connecticut Ave! Park! Deer! Stone Bridge! Phone Mr. Clegg! Don't tell mother! Shirley! She turned the card over, drew a line through her mother's name, and wrote carols in its place. Stealthily she slipped the card up her sleeve, dropped her hand carelessly over the side of the car for a moment, let the card flutter from her fingers, and wrote another. She had written three cards and dropped them in front of houses before it suddenly occurred to her that even if these cards should be picked up and mailed, it would be some time before they reached their destination, and far too late for help to reach her in time. Her heart suddenly went down in a swooning sickness, and her breath almost went from her. Her head was reeling, and all the time she was trying to tell herself that she was exaggerating this thing, that probably the man would slow up, or something, and would all be explained. Yes, he was slowing up, but for what? It was in another lonely spot, and out from the bushes they appeared as if by magic, another man, a queer looking man with a heavy mustache that looked as if it didn't belong to him. He stood alertly waiting for the car, and sprang into the front seat without waiting for it to stop, or even glancing back at her, and the car shot forward again with great leaps. Shirley dropped out the two cards together that she had just written, and leaned forward, touching the newcomer on the arm. "'Won't you please make this driver understand that he is taking me to the wrong place?' she said with a pleasant smile. "'I must get back to an office two or three blocks away from the Treasury Building somewhere. I must turn back at once, or I shall miss my appointment, and be late for my train. It is quite important. Tell him, please. I will pay him well if he will get me back at once.' The stranger turned with an oily smile. "'That's all right, Miss. He isn't making any mistake. We're taking you right to Secretary Baker's country home. He sent for your man, Mr.—' What's his name? I forget. Barnard? Oh, yes. He sent for Mr. Barnard to come out there, sent his private car down for him, and Mr. Barnard he left orders we should go after you and bring you along. It's something they want to change in those notes he was taking. There was a mistake in the Secretary he wanted to look after the matter himself.' Shirley sat back with a sudden feeling of weakness and a fear she might faint, although she had never done such a thing in her life. She was not deceived for an instant now, although she saw it once that she must not let the man know it. The idea that Secretary Baker would pause in the midst of his multiplicity of duties to look into the details of a small article of manufacture was ridiculous. It was equally impossible that Mr. Barnard would have sent strangers after her and let her be carried off in this queer way. He had been most particular that she should be looked after carefully. She was horribly to blame that she had allowed herself to be carried back at all until Mr. Barnard himself appeared, and yet was she? That surely had been the page from the office who came with the message. Well, never mind. She was in for it now, and she must do her best while there was any chance to do anything. She must drop all those postals somehow, and she must hide those notes somewhere, and perhaps write some others, fake ones. What should she do first? Father, help me, show me. Oh, don't let me lose the notes. Please take care of me. Again and again her heart prayed as her hand worked stealthily in her bag, while she tried to put a pleasant smile upon her face, and pretend she was still deceived, leaning forward and speaking to the strange man once more. Is Secretary Baker's home much farther from here? She asked, feeling her lips drossed stiffly in the frozen smile she forced. Will it take long? About ten minutes. The man answered graciously with a peculiar look toward the driver. Nice view around here. He added affably with a leering look of admiration toward her. Shirley's heart stood still with new fear, but she managed to make her white-lip smile again in murmur, charming. Then she leaned back again and fussed around in her bag, ostentatiously bringing out a clean handkerchief, though she really had been detaching the pages which contained the notes from her loose-leaf notebook. They were not many of them, for she always wrote closely in small characters. But where should she hide them? Pull the lining away from the edge of her bag and slip them inside? No. For the bag would be the first place they would likely search, and she could not poke the lining back so smoothly that it would not show. If she should try to drop the tiny pages down her neck inside her blouse, the men would very likely see her. Did she try to slip the leaves down under the linen robe that lay over her lap, and put them inside her shoe? She was wearing plain little black pumps, and the pages would easily go in the soles three or four in each. Once in they would be well hidden, and they would not rattle and give notice of their presence. But, oh, what a terrible risk if anything should happen to knock off her shoe, or if they should try to search her. Still, she must take some risk, and this was the safest risk at hand. She must try it, and then write out some fake notes, giving false numbers and sizes, and other phraseology. What's day? Wasn't there already something written in that book that would answer some specifications she had written down for the Tillman Brooks Company? Yes, she was sure. It wasn't at all for the same articles, nor the same measurements, but only an expert would know that. She leaned down quite naturally to pick up her handkerchief, and deftly managed to get five small leaves slipped into her right shoe. It occurred to her that she must keep her keepers deceived, so she asked once more in a gracious tone. Would it trouble you any to mail a card for me as soon as possible after we arrive? I am afraid my mother will be worried about my delay, and she isn't well. I suppose they have a post office out this way. Sure, Miss," said the man again with another leering smile that made her resolved to have no further conversation than was absolutely necessary. She took out her fountain pen and hurriedly wrote, Detained, longer than I expected, may not get back to night, S.H., and handed the card to the man. He took it and turned it over, all too evidently reading it, and put it in his pocket. Surely felt that she had made an impression of innocence by the move which so far was good. She put away her fountain pen deliberately, and managed in doing so to manipulate the rest of the leaves of notes into her left shoe. Somehow that gave her little confidence, and she sat back and began to wonder if there was anything more she could do. Those dropped postals were worse than useless, of course. Why had she not written an appeal to whoever picked them up? Suiting the action to the thought, she wrote another postal card. Her stock was getting low. There were but two more left. For Christ's sake, send the police to help me. I am being carried off by two strange men, Shirley Hollister. She mocked out the address on the other side and wrote, to whoever picks this up. She flooded it to the breeze cautiously, but her heart sank as she realized how little likelihood there was of its being picked up for days perhaps. For who would stop in a car to notice a bit of paper on the road? And they seemed to be but few pedestrians, if she only had something larger, more attractive. She glanced at her belongings, and suddenly remembered the book she had brought with her to read, one of the new novels from the cottage, a goodly-sized volume, and a bright red cover. The very thing. With a cautious glance at her keepers, she took up the book as if to read, and opening it at the fly-leaf began to write surreptitiously, much the same message that had been on her last postal, signing her name and home address, and giving her employer's address. Her heart was beating wildly when she had finished. She was trying to think just how she should use this last bit of ammunition to the best advantage. Should she just drop it on the road quietly? If only there was some way to fasten the pages open so her message would be read. Her handkerchief, of course. She folded it cornerwise and slipped it in across the pages so that the book would fall open at the fly-leaf, knotting the ends on the back of the cover. Every moment had to be cautious, and she must remember to keep her attitude of reading, with the printed pages covering the handkerchief. It seemed hours that it took her, her fingers trembled so. If it had not been for the rushing noise of wind and car she would not have dead so much undiscovered. But apparently her captors were satisfied that she still believed their story about going to Secretary Baker's country-house, for they seemed mainly occupied in watching to see if they were pursued, casting anxious glances back now and then, but scarcely noticing her at all. Surely had noticed two or three times when a car had passed them that the men both leaned down to do something at their feet to the machinery of the car. Were they afraid of being recognized? Would this perhaps give her a chance to fling her book out where it would be seen by people in an oncoming car? Oh, if she but had the strength and skill to fling it into a car! But of course that was impossible without attracting the attention of the two men. Nevertheless she must try what she could do. She lifted her eyes to the road ahead, and lo! a big car was bearing down upon them. She had almost disappeared of meeting any more, for the road was growing more and more lonely, and they must have come many miles. As soon as the two men in the front of her sighted the car, they seemed to settle in their seats and draw their hats down a little farther over their eyes. The same troubles seemed to develop with the machinery at their feet that Shirley had noticed before, and they barbed and ducked, and seemed to be wholly engrossed with their own affairs. Shirley's heart was beating so fast that it seemed as though it would suffocate her, and her hand seemed powerless as it lay innocently holding the closed book with the knotted handkerchief turned down out of sight. But she was girding herself, nerving herself for one great last effort, and praying to be guided. The big car came on swiftly and was about to pass when Shirley half rose and hurled her book straight at it and then sank back in her seat with a fearful terror upon her, closing her eyes for one brief second, not daring to watch the results of her act if there were to be any results. The men in the front seats suddenly straightened up and looked around. What's the matter, growled the man who had got in last in quite a different tone from any he had used before? What are you trying to put over on us? Shirley gasped and caught at her self-control. I've dropped my book! She stammered out wildly. Could you stop long enough to pick it up? It was borrowed, she ended sweetly as if by inspiration, and wondering at the steadiness of her tone, when blood was pounding so in her throat and ears and everything was black before her. Perhaps, oh, perhaps they would stop, and she could cry out to the people for help. The man rose up in his seat and looked back. Shirley cast one frightened glance back too, and saw in that brief second that the other car had stopped, and someone was standing up and looking back. Hell no! said her captain briefly ducking down in the seat. Let her out, he howled to the driver, and the car broke into a galloping streak, the wheels hardly seeming to touch the ground, the tonneau bounding and swaying this way and that. Shirley had all she could do to keep in her seat. At one moment she thought how easy it would be to spring from the car and lie still in a little heap at the roadside. But there were the notes she must not abandon her trust, even for so fearful an escape from her captors. Suddenly, without warning, they turned a shop-curve and struck into a rough, almost unbroken road into the woods, and the thick growth seemed to close in behind them and shut them out from the world. Shirley shut her eyes and prayed. The Enchanted Barn by Grace Livingston Hill. CHAPTER XXIII The next trolley that passed the old barn after the Hollistus had left, brought a maidservant and a manservant from the grain-place. The other old servant met them, and together the three went to work. They had brought with them a lot of large dust-covers and flue spreads, such as are used by housemates in cleaning a room. And with these they now proceeded to cover all the large pieces of furniture in the place. In a very short space of time the rugs and bits of carpet were carefully rolled up, the furniture piled in small compass in the middle of the rooms, and everything enveloped in thick coverings. The curtains, brick-a-brack, and even the dishes were put away carefully, and the whole big inviting home was suddenly denuded. The clothes from the calico curtain clothes presses were folded and laid in drawers, and everything made perfectly safe for a lot of workmen to come into the house. Even the hayloft bedrooms shared in this process. Only a cot was left for the old servant, and a few necessary things for him to use. And most of these he transported to the basement, out of the way. When the work was done, the man and maid took the trolley back home again, and the other old manservant arranged to make his Sabbath as pleasant as possible in the company of his brother from the nearby farm. Monday morning, promptly at eight o'clock, the trolley landed a bevy of workmen, carpenters, plasterers, plumbers, and furnacemen, with a foreman who set them all at work as if it were a puzzle he had studied out and memorized the solution. In a short time the quiet spot was full of sound, the symphony of industry, the rhythm of toil. Some men were working away with the furnace that had been stored in the cellar. Others were measuring, fitting, cutting holes for lead pipes. Still others were soaring away at the roof, making great gashes in its mossy extent, and two men were busy taking down the old barn door. Out in front more men were building a vat from water, and opening bags of lime and sand that began to arrive. Three men with curious aprons made of ticking, filled with thin wire nails, were frantically putting lathes on the uprights that the carpenters had already set up, and stabbing them with nails from a seemingly inexhaustible supply in their mouths. It was as if they had all engaged to build the Tower of Babel in a day, and meant to win a prize at it. Such sounds, such shouting, such bangings, thumpings, and harsh, raucous noises. The bird in the tall tree looked and shivered, thankful that her brood were well away on their wings before all this cataclysm came to pass. Finally arrived a load of sashes, doors, and wooden frames, and another load of lumber. Things can be done in a hurry if you have money and influence, and the will to insist upon what you want. Before night there was a good start made toward big changes in the old barn. Plumbers and gas fitters, and men who were putting in the hot water heat, chased one another around the place, each man seeking to get his pipes in place before the lathers got to that spot, and the contractor was everywhere, proving his right to be selected for this rushed job. As soon as the lathers had finished with a room, the plasterers took possession, and the old door was rapidly being replaced with a great glazed door set in a frame of more sashes so that the old darkness was gone entirely. In the roof big dormer windows were taking the place of the two or three little eyebrow affairs that had given air to the hay here to four, and the loft was fast becoming pleasanter than the floor below. Outside laborers were busy building up a terrace where a wide cement floor piazza with stone foundations and low stone walls was to run across the entire front. Another chimney was rising from the region of the kitchen. A white enamel sink with a wide drain shelf attached appeared next with signs of a butler's pantry between kitchen and dining room. A delightful set of china closet doors with little diamond panes that matched the windows was put in one corner of the dining room, and some bookcases with sliding doors began to develop along the walls of the living room. Down in the basement a man was fitting stationary tubs for a laundry, and on both the first floor and the second bathrooms were being made. If the place hadn't been so big the workmen would have gotten one another's way. Closets big and little were being put in, and parts of a handsome staircase were lying about until you wouldn't know the place at all. Every evening the old servant and the neighbor next door, who used to rent the old barn before he built his own new one, came together to look over what had been accomplished during the day, and to discourse upon this changing world and the wonders of it. The farmer, in fact, learned a great deal about modern improvements, and at once set about bringing some of them to bear upon his own modest farmhouse. He had money in the bank, and why shouldn't he have things convenient for Sally? When Sidney Graham reached the city on Monday morning he scarcely took time to read his mail in the office, and give the necessary attention to the day's work before he was up and off again, flying along the glenside road as fast as his car would carry him. His mind certainly was not on business that morning. He was as eager as a child to see how work at the old barn was progressing, and the workmen stood small chance of lying down on their job that week, for he meant to make every minute count, no matter how much it cost. He spent a large part of Monday hovering about the old barn, gloating over each new sign of progress, using his imagination on more things than the barn. But when Tuesday arrived, an accumulation of work at the office in connection with a large order that had just come in kept him close to his desk. He had hoped to get away in time to reach glenside before the workmen left in the afternoon, but four o'clock arrived with still a great pile of letters for him to sign, before his work would be done for the day. He had just signed his name for the forty-ninth time, and laid his pen down with an impatient sigh of relief, when the telephone on his desk rang. He hesitated. Should he answer it and be hindered again? Or call his secretary and let her attend to it while he slipped away to his well-earned respite. A second insistent ring, however, brought him back to duty, and he reached out and took up the receiver. Is this Mr. Sidney Graham? Long distance is calling. The young man frowned impatiently, and wished he had sent for his secretary. It was probably another tiresome comfab on that Chicago matter, and it really wasn't worth the trouble anyway. Then a small, scared voice at the other end of the wire spoke. Is that you, Mr. Graham? Well, this is Carol. Say, Mr. Graham, I'm afraid something awful has happened to Shirley. I don't know what to do, and I thought I'd better ask you." Her voice broke off in a gasp like a sob. A cold chill struck at the young man's heart, and a vision of Shirley battling with the ocean waves was instantly conjured up. "'Shirley, where is she? Tell me quick,' he managed to say, though the words seemed to stick in his throat. "'She's down at Washington,' answered Carol. Mr. Barnard phoned her last night. There was something special nobody else could take notes about, because it was for a government contract and has to be secret. Mr. Barnard asked her to please go, and she went this morning. Mother didn't like her to go, but she addressed a lot of postal cards for her to write back, and one came post- Mount Baltimore in this afternoon's mail, saying she was having a nice time. But just now a call came from Mother to go to the telephone. She was asleep, and George was crabbing, so I had to come. It was a strange man in Washington. He said he had just found three postal cards on the road addressed to Mother that all said, help, quick. Two men were carrying off Shirley and pleased to phone to the police. He took the post-als to the police station, but he thought he ought to phone us. And, oh, Mr. Gray, what shall I do? I can't tell Mother. It will kill her. And how can we help Shirley?' Don't tell Mother, said Graham quickly, trying to speak calmly out of his horror. Be a brave girl, Carol. A great deal depends on you just now. Have you phoned Mr. Barnard? Oh, you say he's in Washington? He was to meet your sister in Baltimore? He did meet her, you say. The postal card said she had met him. Well, the next thing is to phone Mr. Clegg and find out if he knows anything. I'll do that at once, and unless he is heard that she is all right, I will stop for Washington on the next train. Suppose you stay right where you are till half past five. I may want to call you up again, and need you in a hurry. Then you go back to the cottage as fast as you can, and talk cheerfully. Say you went to take a walk. Isn't Elizabeth with you? Well, tell her to help keep your mother from suspecting anything. Above all things, don't cry. It won't do any good, and it may do lots of harm. Get George off by himself, and tell him everything. And tell him I said he was to make some excuse to go downtown after supper, and stay at the telephone office till ten o'clock. I may want to call him up from Washington. Now be a brave little girl. I suspect your sister Shirley would tell you to pray. Goodbye. I will, gasped Carol. Goodbye. Graham pressed his foot on the bell under his desk, and reached out to slam his desk door shut and put away his papers. His secretary appeared at the door. Get me Barnard and Clegg on the phone. Ask for Mr. Barnard, or if he isn't in, Mr. Clegg. Then go out to the other phone and call up the station. Find out what's the next express to Washington. Tell Bromwell to be ready to drive me to the station and bring my car back to the garage. He was working rapidly as he talked, putting papers in the safe, jotting down a few notes for the next day's work, trying to think of everything at once. The secretary handed him the phone, quietly saying, Mr. Clegg on the phone, and went out of the room. Excited conference with Mr. Clegg brought out the fact that he was but just in receipt of a telegram from police headquarters in Washington, saying that a book with Barnard and Clegg's address and an appeal from a young woman named Shirley Hollister, who was apparently being kidnapped by two strange men in an auto, had been flung into a passing car and brought to them. They had sent forces in search of the girl at once, and would do all on their power to find her. Meantime, they would like any information that would be helpful in the search. Mr. Clegg was much excited. He appeared to have lost his head. He seemed glad to have another cooler mind at work on the case. He sputtered a good deal about the importance of the case and the necessity for secrecy. He said he hoped it wouldn't get into the papers, and that it would be Barnard and Clegg's undoing if it did. He seemed more concerned about that than the notes that Shirley probably had than about the girl's situation. When Graham brought him up rather sharply, he admitted that there had been a message from Barnard that he would be detained overnight, probably. But he had attached no significance to that. He knew Barnard's usual hotel address in Washington, but hadn't thought to phone him about the telegram from police headquarters. Graham hung up at last in a panic of fury and dismay, ringing violently for his secretary again. The next train leaves at five o'clock, she said capably as she entered. Bromwell has gone after the car. I told him to buy you a mileage-book and save your time at this end. You have forty minutes and he will be back in plenty of time. Good, said Graham. Now, call up long distance and get me police headquarters in Washington. No. Use the phone in Father's Office please. I'll have to use this while you're getting them." As soon as she had left the room, he called up the shore again and was fortunate in getting Carol almost immediately, the poor child being close at hand, all in a trumble, with Elizabeth and no less a state of nervousness, brave and white, waiting for orders. Can you give me an exact description of your sister's dress and everything that she had with her when she started this morning? Asked Graham, prepared with pen and paper to write it down. Carol summoned her wits and described Shirley's simple outfit exactly, even down to the little black pumps on her feet, and went mentally through the small handbag she had carried. Oh, yes! she added, and she had a book to read, one she found here in the cottage. It had a red cover and was called, From the Car Behind. Graham wrote them all down carefully, asked a few more details of Shirley's plans, and bade Carol again to be brave and go home with a message to George to be at the phone from half past eight till ten. He was all ready to go to his train when the Washington call came in, and as he hurried to his Father's office to answer it, he found his heart crying out to an unseen power, to help in this trying hour, and protect the sweet girl an awful peril. Oh, God! I love her! He found his heart sing over and over again, as if it had started out to be an individual by itself without his will of volition. There was no comfort from Washington police headquarters. Nothing more had been discovered save another crumpled postal lying along the roadside. They received with alacrity, however, Mr. Barnard's Washington hotel address and the description of the young woman and her belongings. When Graham had finished the hasty conversation he had to fly to make his train, and when at last he lay back in his seat in the parlor-car and let the waves of his anxiety and trouble roll over him. He was almost overwhelmed. He had led a comparatively tranquil life for a young man who had never tried to stay clear of trouble, and this was the first great calamity that had ever come his way. Calamity? No. He would not own yet that it was a calamity. He was hurrying to her. He would find her. He would not allow himself to think that anything had befallen her. But wherever she was, if she was still alive, no matter how great her peril, he was sure she was praying now, and he would pray too. Yes, pray as she had taught him. Oh, God! If he only knew how to pray better, what was it she had said so often? Whatsoever ye ask in my name? Yes, that was it. I will do it. What was that talismanic name? Ah, Christ! Oh, God, in the name of Christ! But when he came to the thought of her, she was too exquisite and dear to be put into words. So his petition went up in spirit form, unframed by words to weigh it down, wafted up by the pain of a soul in torture. At Baltimore it occurred to Graham to send a telegram to Barnard to meet him at the train, and when he got out at Union Station the first person he saw was Barnard, white and haggard, looking for him through the bars of the train gate. He grasped the young man's hand as if it were a last straw for a drowning man to cling to, and demanded in a shaking voice to know if he had heard anything from Miss Hollister. One of the first questions that Graham asked was whether Barnard had been back to the office where Miss Hollister had taken the dictation to report her disappearance. Well, no. I hadn't thought of that, said Barnard blankly. What would they know about it? The fact is I was rather anxious to keep the facts from getting to them. You see, they warned me that there were parties anxious to get hold of those specifications. It's government work, you know. They should know it once, said Graham sternly. They may have inside information which would give us a clue to follow. The secret servicemen are on to a lot of things that we common mortals don't suspect. Mr. Barnard looked mortified and convinced. Well, what have you done so far? We would better understand each other thoroughly so as to save time and not go over old ground. You have been in communication with police headquarters, of course, said Graham. Why, no, said the old man apologetically. You see, I got here just in time for the train, and failing to find the young lady in the station where we had agreed to meet, I took it for granted that she had used the extra time in driving about to see a few sights in the city as I suggested, and had somehow failed to get back in time. I couldn't understand it, because she had been quite anxious to get home to-night. I could have caught the train myself, but didn't exactly like to leave her alone in a strange city, though of course it's perfectly safe for a steady girl like that. It occurred to me that she might have gotten on the train, and perhaps I should have done so too. But there was really very little time to decide, for the train pulled out two minutes after I reached the station. I waited about here for a time, and then went over to the Continental where my sister is stopping, thinking I would ask her to stay in the station and watch for the young lady, and I would go home. But I found my sister had run down to the shore for a few days, so I had something to eat, and while I was in the dining-room your telegram came. I was hoping somehow you would see Miss Hollister, or had word from her, and it was all right. One could see the poor man had no conception of what was due to a lady in his care, and Graham looked at him for a moment with rage, wishing he could take him by the throat and shake some sense into him. Then you don't know that she's been kidnapped and the police are out on track for her," said Graham dryly. No. You don't say," exclaimed Barnard, turning white and showing he had some real feeling after all. Kidnapped. Why, why, how could she? And she's got those notes. Why, Graham, you're fooling. Why, how came you to know?" Graham told him tersely as he walked with the man over to the telephone booths, and finished with, Now, you go in that booth and phone your government man, and I'll call up police headquarters and see what's doing. We've got to work fast, for there's no telling what may have happened in the last three hours. It's up to us to find that girl before anything worse happens to her. White and trembling Barnard tottered into the booth, when he came out again the sleuth-hounds of the Secret Service were on the trail of Shirley Hollister's captors. CHAPTER XXIV The car that was bearing Shirley Hollister through the lonely witted road at a breathless speed suddenly came to a halt in the rear of an old house whose front faced on another road equally lonely. During the brief time that they had been in the woods, the sky seemed to have perceptibly darkened with the coming evening. Shirley looked about her with increased fright. It was almost night, and here was her prison, far from town or human dwelling-place. Even the road was at some distance in front of the house, and there were more woods on either side. This here is Secretary Baker's summer home, announced the man who had done the talking, as he climbed out of the car and opened the door for her. You can just step in the back door and go through to the parlor. That helps all out this afternoon. The Secretary will be down presently. He always takes a nap afternoons about this time. I'll tell him you've come. There seemed nothing to do but obey, and Shirley chose to let the farce continue. Surely the man must know she was not a fool, but it was better than open hostility. There was nothing to be gained by informing him that she knew how he was guying her. Oh, Jesus Christ, I trust myself to you! She breathed in her heart, as she stepped across the leaf-strewn grass and looked about her, wondering whether she should ever walk the earth again after she had stepped into the dim tree- shrouded house. But why go in? I think I will remain out here, she said calmly, albeit her heart was pounding away like a trip hammer. Please tell Mr. Baker to come to me here. It is much pleasanter than in the house a day like this. Ah, no, you won't, neither. The Secretary don't receive in the open air even in summer, drawled the man, and she noticed that he and the driver straightened up and stepped closer to her, one on either side. She gave one wild glance toward the open space. There was simply no chance at all to run away, even if she succeeded in eluding them at the start by a quick, unexpected dash. They were alert, athletic men, and no telling how many more were hidden in the house. Oh, very well, of course, if it's a matter of etiquette, said surely pleasantly, determined to keep up the farce as long as possible. A cold, dark air met the girl as she stepped within the creaking door and looked about her. At her left was an old-fashioned kitchen, dusty and cobwebby. A long, narrow hall led to the front of the house and her guide pointed her toward a room on the right. There was something hollow and eerie in the sound of their footsteps on the old, oaken floor. The room into which she was ushered was musty and dusty as the rest. The floor was covered with an ancient ingrained carpet. The table was covered with a magenta felt cover, stamped with a vine of black leaves, and riddled with moth holes. The walls were hung with old prints and steel engravings, suspended by woolen cords and tassels. The furniture was dilapidated. Everything was covered with dust, but there were no finger marks in the dust here and there that showed that the place had been recently visited. Through an open doorway an old square piano was visible in what must be the parlor. The place seemed to surely fairly teeming with memories of some family now departed. She leaped to the quick conclusion that the house had been long deserted and had only recently been entered and used as a rendezvous for illegal conferences. It occurred to her that there might be an opportunity for her to hide her precious papers somewhere safely if it came to it that she must be searched. How about that piano? Could she slip some of them between the keys? But it was hardly likely that there would be opportunity for anything like that. She felt strangely calm as she looked about upon her prison. "'He ain't come yet,' marked her guide as he glanced into the front room. "'Well, you can sit down. He won't be long now. Joe, you just look about a bit and see if you can find the secretary and tell him the young lady is here.' The man flung himself full length on the carpet-covered couch and looked at her with satisfaction. What train was that you said you must make? I'm afraid now you might be going to be just a trifle late if he doesn't get a hustle on. But you can't hurry a great man like that, you know.' "'Oh, it's no matter,' said Shirley Cooley, looking around her with the utmost innocence. What a quaint old house! Has it been in the family a long time?' The man looked at her amusedly. "'You're a cute one,' he remarked affably. I believe you're a pretty good sport. You know perfectly well you're in my power and can't do a turn to help yourself. Yet you sail around here as calm as a queen. You're some looker too. Blamed if I'm not enjoying myself. I wouldn't mind a kiss or two from those pretty lips.' But Shirley had melted through the doorway into the other room, and her voice floated back with charming indifference as if she had not heard, though she was ready to scream with loathing in fear of the man. "'Why, isn't this a delightful old piano? The key's actually Mother of Pearl. Isn't it odd? Would Mr. Baker mind if I played on it?' And before her astonished captor could get himself to the doorway, she had sat down on the rickety old hair-cloth stool and swept the keys lightly. The old cords trembled and shivered, as if awaking from a tomb, and uttered forth a quavering sweet sound like ancient memories. The man was much too astonished to stop her, amused too perhaps, and interested. Her white fingers over the dusty pearls in the growing dusk had a strange charm for the hardened reprobate, like the wonder of a flower dropped into the foulness of a prison. Before he could recover he was startled again by her voice, soaring out in the empty, echoing house. Walk of ages, cleft for me, let me hide myself in thee. Let the water and the blood, from thy riven side which flowed, be of sin the double cure. Save me, Lord, and make me pure." Perhaps those dim gloomy walls had echoed before to the grand old tune, but never could it have been sung in dire or straight, or with more earnest cry from his soul in distress. She had chosen the first words that seemed to fit the chords she had struck, but every syllable was a prayer to God in whom she trusted. It may be the man felt the power of her appeal, as he stood rooted in the doorway and listened while she sang through all the verses she could remember. But the last trembling note was broken harshly by Joe's voice at the kitchen door in shop, rasping orders. "'He's there! Get in that noise! Do you want to raise hell here? Wake up, see him? Get on to your job! Henny's coming!' "'That's all right, Joe. Dry up! This is good Sunday school dope. This won't rouse no suspicions. Go to the devil and mind your business. I know what I'm about.' Shirley was almost ready to cry, but she drew a deep breath and started on another song. "'Jesus, lover of my soul, let me to thy bosom fly. While the nearer waters roll, while the tempest still is high, hide me, O my Saviour hide, till the storm of life is past.' On through the time-worn words she sang, while the sin-hardened man stood silently and listened. His eyes had gradually lost their leer and grown soft and tender, as if some childhood memories of home and mother and a time when he was innocent and good were looking out his eyes, reminding him of what he once intended to be before he ate the apple of wisdom and became as the gods and devils. Shirley gradually became aware that she was holding her strange audience and a power beyond herself steadied her voice and kept her fingers from trembling on the old pearl keys. As she wandered on from song to song, perhaps happening on the very ones, who knows, that this man, standing in the dying twilight of the old gloomy house, had sung beside his mother's hearth or in church during his childhood. Certain it is that he stood there silent and listened for at least half an hour, without an interruption, while the light in the big room grew dimmer and dimmer, and all about the house seemed still as death in the intervals between her voice. She was just beginning. Abide with me. Fast falls the eventide. The darkness deepens. Lord, with me abide. When the man put his hand in his pocket and brought out a candle, matching a match on his trousers, he lit the candle and set it carefully on the piano, where its light fell flickering, wavering over her worn young face, and who shall say that she was not a messenger from another world to this man who had long trodden the downward path. They were interrupted, however, before this song was finished, by a newcomer who entered like a shadow and stood at the end of the piano, looking wonderingly from Shirley to the man when she glanced up. She stopped, startled. For, although he wore no brass buttons, nor blue clothes, she was quite sure those were the very same gray eyes that had looked at her from the recess of the window in the government office that afternoon. Perhaps the same boy who had come after her car and sent her off on this long way into the wilderness. The man sam straightened up suddenly and looked about him, half ashamed with an apologetic grin. "'Oh, you've come, have you, honey? Well, you've been a long time about it. But now I guess we'll get to work. Where's Joe? Out in the watch?' "'All right, then, miss, if you've no objection, we'll just take a little vacation on the psalm singing, and turn our attention to worldly things. I calculate you're sharp enough to know what we brought you out here for. I acknowledge you can sing real well, and you sort of got my goat for a while there, with all that morning-bench trollah. But you certainly have got that holy dope down fine. But now the times come for business, and you needn't to think that because I can enjoy a little sentiment now and then in a leisure moment, that you can put anything over on me, for it can't be did. I mean business, and I've got you in my power. We're ten miles from any settlement, and no neighbors, any way is about. Everybody moved away. So it won't do any good to work any funny business on us. You can't get away. We're all armed, and no one knows where you are. If you behave yourself and do as you're told, there won't be any trouble. We'll just transact our business, and then we'll have a bit of supper, and maybe a few more tunes. Got any ragtime in your repertoire? And then some time after midnight, when the moon's good and dark, we'll get you back to civilization, where you won't have no trouble in getting home. But if you act up and get funny, why you know what to expect? There was a young girl murdered once in this house, and buried in the cellar, and ever since, folks say it's haunted and they won't come near it. That's the kind of a place we're in. So now, are you ready? Shirley sat cold and still. It seemed as if her lifeblood had suddenly congealed in her veins, and for a second she felt as if her senses were going to desert her. Then the echo of her own song, hide me, O my Saviour hide, seemed to cry out from her soul silently, and she rallied once more, and gained her self-control. While Miss went on the man impressively, I see you're ready for the question. And you've got your nerve with you, too. I'll hand you that. But I warn you, and won't do no good. We bring you out here to get ahold of that notebook you wrote in this morning, and we're going to have it. We know that Mr. Barnard left it in your care. Henny here heard him say for you to keep it. So it won't be of any use for you to lie about it. Of course, said Shirley, standing up and reaching over for her handbag, which she had laid on the piano beside her while she played. I understand perfectly. But I'd like to ask you a question, Mr. Smith or Jones, whichever you like to call it, spit it out. I suppose you are paid to bring me out here, Mr. Smith, and get my property away from me, she said gravely. Well, yes, we don't calculate to do it just for sweet charity. And I am paid to look after my notebook, you see. It's a trust that has been given me. I just have to look after it. It's out of the question for me to desert it. Shirley spoke coolly and held her little bag close in the firm grasp of her two hands. The man stared at her and laughed. The boy, Henny, fairly gapped in his astonishment. A girl with all that nerve! Of course I understand perfectly that you can murder me and bury me down in the cellar beside that other girl that was murdered, and perhaps no one will find it out for a while, and you can go on having a good time on the money you will get for it. But the day will come when you will have to answer for it. You know I didn't come here alone to-day. Both men looked startled and glanced uneasily into the shadows, as if there might be someone lurking near. God came with me, and He knows. He'll make you remember some day. The boy laughed out a nervous, ha-ha, of relief. But the man seemed held, fascinated by her look and words. There was silence for a second, while the girl held off the ruffian in the man by sheer force of her strong personality. Then the boy laughed again with a sneer in the end of it, and the spell was broken. The leer came into the eyes of the man again. The sneer of the boy had brought him to himself, to the self he had come to be. "'Nix on the sobs stuff, girly,' he said gruffly. "'It won't go down with me. We're here for business, and we've been delayed too long already. Come now. Will you hand out that notebook, or will we have to search you?' He took one stride across to where she stood, and wrenched the handbag from her grasp before she was aware of his intention. She had not meant to give it up without a struggle, much as she had lulled the thought of one. She must make the matter last as long as possible if perchance God was sending help to her, and must contest every inch of the way as far as lay in her power. Oh! had anyone picked up her cards? Had the book with its message reached any friendly eye? Frail and white and stern, she stood with folded arms while they turned out the contents of the little bag, and scattered it over the piano, searching with clumsy fingers among her dainty things. The notebook she had rolled within her handkerchiefs, and made it hard to find. She feared lest her ruse would be discovered when they looked it over. The boy was the one who clutched for the little book, recognizing it as the one he had seen in the office that morning. The man hung over his shoulder, and peered in the candlelight, watching the boy anxiously. It meant a good deal of money if they put this thing through. "'Here it is,' said the boy, fluttering through the leaves, and carefully scrutinizing the shorthand characters. Yes, that's the dope!' He ran his eye down the pages, caught a word here and there, technicalities of manufacture, the very items, of course, that he wanted, if this had been the specifications for the government order. Surely remembered with relief that none of the details were identical, however, with the notes she carried in her shoes. The book notes were, in fact, descriptive of an entirely different article from that demanded by the government. The question was, would these people be wise enough to discover that fact before she was out of their power, or not? Fertively she studied the boy. There was something keen and cunning about his youthful face. He was thick-set, with blonde hair and blue eyes. He might be of German origin, though there was not a sign of accent about his speech. He had the bulldog chin, retreating forehead and eagle nose of the Kaiser in embryo. Surely saw all this as she studied him furtively, that he was an expert in shorthand who was proved by the ease with which he read some of her obscure sentences, translating rapidly here and there as he examined the book. Was he well enough informed about the government contract to realize that these were not the notes she had taken in the office that morning? And, should he fail to recognize it, was there perhaps someone higher in authority to whom they would be shown before she was released? She shivered and set her weary toes tight with determination over the little crinkling papers in her shoes. Somehow she would protect those notes from being taken, even if she had to swallow them. This surely would be a way to hide them if the need came. Suddenly the tense strain under which she was holding herself was broken by the man. He looked up with a grin, rubbing his hands with evident self-congratulation and relief. "'That's all right, girly. That's the dope we want. Now we won't trouble you any longer. We'll have supper. Henny, you go get some of that wood out in the shed, and we'll have a fire on the hearth and make some coffee.' But surely standing white and tense in the dim shadow of the room suddenly felt the place whirling about her and the candle dancing far off. Her knees gave way beneath her, and she dropped back to the piano-stool weekly, and covered her face with her hands, pressing hard on her eyeballs, trying to keep her senses and stop this black dizziness that threatened to submerge her consciousness. She must not faint if this was fainting. She must keep her senses and guard her precious shoes. If one of those should fall off while she was unconscious, all would be undone.