AS they talked the young girls wandered over the grassy sward of the churchyard and their voices grew fainter and fainter to the cyclist and Miss Sallie.

The latter had seated herself on the stump of an old tree and was busily engaged in re-reading her mail, at which she had glanced only carelessly that morning.

The air was very still and hot, and the hum of insects made a drowsy accompaniment to the songs of the birds. The cyclist had stretched himself at full length on the grass under an immense elm tree and was lazily blowing blue rings of smoke skywards.

Presently there broke upon the noonday stillness a cry for help. It was in a high, girlish voice – Mollie’s in fact – and it was followed by others in quick succession.

Miss Stuart, scattering her mail on the ground in her fright, rushed in the direction of the cries, the cyclist close behind her.

On a knoll near the church the sight which met Miss Sallie’s eyes almost made her knees give way. But she had a cool head in danger, in spite of her lavender draperies and pretended helplessness.

A tramp, who seemed to them all at the moment as big as a giant, with matted hair and beard and face swollen from drink, had seized Ruth and Barbara by the wrists with one of his enormous hands. A woman equally ragged in appearance was tugging at the fellow’s other hand in an effort to quiet him.

As Miss Sallie ran toward the group she heard Barbara say quietly:

“Let go our wrists and we shall be glad to give you all the money we have with us.”

“I tell you I want more money than that,” said the man in a hoarse, terrible voice. “I want enough money to keep me for the rest of my days. Do you think I like to sleep on the ground and eat bread and water? I tell you I want my rights. Why should you be rich and me poor? Why should you be dressed in silks while my wife wears rags?”

As he raved, he jerked his hand away from the woman, almost throwing her forward in his violence, and gesticulated wildly.

The two girls were both very pale and calm, but the poor tramp woman was crying bitterly.

Barbara’s lips were moving, but she said nothing, and only Mollie knew it was her mother’s prayer she was repeating.

“Don’t be frightened, young ladies,” sobbed the woman, “I will see that no harm comes to you, even if he kills me.”

“Do you call this a free country,” continued the tramp, “when there are thousands of people like me who have no houses and must beg for food? I would like to kill all the rich men in this country and turn their children loose to beg and steal, as we must do to get a living! Do you think I would ever have come to this pass if a rich man had not brought me to it? Do you think I was always a tramp like this, and my wife yonder a tramp, too?”

At this point the drunken wretch began to cry, but he still held the two girls tightly by the wrists.

“I tell you I’ll take a ransom for you and nothing less. I’ll get out of the world all it’s taken from me, and your father will have to do the paying. Come on!” he cried in a tone of command, to his trembling wife.

At this critical moment Miss Stuart and the motor cyclist came running to the scene.

There was a look of immense relief on Miss Sallie’s face when she saw the courteous stranger at her heels. She had been about to speak, but was silent.

“Oh, ho!” cried the tramp, “so you’ve got a protector, have you? Well, come on! I’ll fight the whole lot of you, women and men, too, and with one hand, at that!”

He loomed up like a giant beside the small, slender cyclist, but he was a drunken giant nevertheless and not prepared for what was about to happen.

However, at first, it appeared to them all that a little persuasion might be better than force.

“If you will let the young ladies go, my good man,” said the cyclist, “you will not regret it. You will be well paid. I would advise you to take a sensible view of the matter. You cannot kidnap us all, and it would not take long to get help. Would you prefer a long term in jail to a sum of money?” And the cyclist drew a leather wallet from his coat pocket.

“You think you are mighty smart, young man,” sneered the tramp, “but I can kidnap all of you, and nobody ever be the wiser. Do you think I’d let a chance like this go? My pals are right over there.” He pointed with his free hand to the woods back of him.

“You will be sorry,” said the cyclist.

With an oath, the tramp put his finger to his mouth and gave a long, shrill whistle.

But in that moment he was off his guard, and the cyclist leaped upon him like a leopard on a lion. One swift blow under the jaw and down tumbled the giant as Goliath fell before David.

The poor woman, who was crouching in terror behind a tree, jumped to her feet.

“Run!” she cried in a frightened whisper. “Run for your lives!”

The cyclist seized Miss Sallie by the arm.

“She is right. It is better to run. The others may be coming.”

And they did run. Terror seemed to lend wings to their feet. Even Miss Stuart, assisted by their rescuer, fled over the grass as swiftly as her charges.

Ruth and Barbara reached the automobile first. In an instant Ruth had cranked up the machine while Barbara opened the door.

Another moment, and they were off down the road, the black-clad cyclist following. Glancing back, they saw two other rough-looking men helping their comrade to rise to his feet. Then they disappeared in the woods while the woman, with many anxious backward glances, followed her companions.

Nobody spoke for some time. The girls were too much terrified by the narrow escape to trust to their voices. The bravest women will weep after a danger is past, and all five of these women were very near the point of tears.

Presently the cyclist came up alongside of the automobile, which had slowed down somewhat when they reached the main road.

“I will go ahead and inform the police,” he called over his shoulder, “but I fear it will not be of much use. Men like that will scatter and hide themselves at the first alarm.”

Miss Sallie smiled at him gratefully. Touching his cap, which was fastened under his chin with a strap and could not be lifted without some inconvenience, the stranger shot ahead and soon disappeared in a cloud of dust.

Miss Sallie was thinking deeply. She wished that Major Ten Eyck and the boys had not left the hotel that morning. She felt need of the strong support of the opposite sex. She felt also the responsibility of being at the head of her party of young girls.

Should they dare start off again next day into the wilderness after such an experience? Of course, as long as they were in the automobile, going at full speed, nothing could stop them except a puncture, and punctures on country roads were not as frequent as they were on city streets. What would her brother say? Would he sanction such a trip after this fearful experience? And still she hesitated.

The truth was, Miss Stuart was as eager as the girls to accept the invitation that had been so unexpectedly made. She did not wish to revive the romance of her youth, but she did have an overweening desire to see the ancestral home of her old lover, and to talk with him on the thousand subjects that spring up when two old friends come together after many years.

It was, therefore, with half-hearted vehemence that she said to the four rather listless girls:

“My dears, don’t you think it would be very dangerous for us to go over to Major Ten Eyck’s, to-morrow, after this fearful attack?”

Everybody looked relieved that somebody had had the courage to say the first word.

“Dear auntie, we’ll leave it entirely to you,” replied Ruth. “Although, I don’t believe we are likely to be kidnapped as long as we keep the automobile going. The fastest running tramp in Christendom couldn’t keep up with us, even when we’re going at an ordinary rate. From what Major Ten Eyck said, the road is pretty good. We ought to get there in an hour, since it’s only fifteen miles from here, and the last mile or so is on his estate.”

The other girls said nothing, it being a matter for the chaperon to settle.

“Very well, my dear,” answered Miss Sallie, acquiescing so suddenly that the others almost smiled in spite of the seriousness of their feelings at the moment. “But I do feel that we had a narrow escape this morning. If it had not been for the young man on the motor cycle I tremble to think what would have been the consequences. And I certainly believe if we are not going back to New York, the sooner we get into the society of some male protectors the better for us. I am sorry that fifteen miles separate us. I wish those boys had thought to motor back and get us to-morrow.”

“Oh, well,” observed Barbara, “fifteen miles is a mere bagatelle, when you come to think of it. Why, we shall be there before we know it.”

CHAPTER V – THE MOTOR CYCLIST

By this time the automobile had reached the hotel. Miss Sallie led the way to the dining room and they formed rather a weak-kneed procession, for they were beginning to experience that all-gone feeling that comes after a fright.

The luncheon hamper full of good things had been carried back into the hotel, since there had been neither time nor opportunity for the picnic party the girls had planned.

“I think a little food is what we really need, now,” exclaimed Ruth. “Cheer up, Mollie and Grace. Bab, smile for the ladies. It’s all over. Here we are, safe, and we are going to have a beautiful time at Major Ten Eyck’s. Please, dear friends, don’t begin to take this gloomy view of life. As for the anarchist person who attacked us in the woods, you may depend upon it that he and his friends are so frightened they will be running in an opposite direction from Tarrytown for another week. As for the foreign young man who stepped up to the rescue, he should certainly be thanked.”

Ruth had by nature a happy temperament. She quickly threw off small troubles, and depression in others made her really unhappy.

“It was truly a daring deed,” replied Barbara, “and all the more daring considering that the tramp would have made about two of the cyclist. But the blow he gave was as swift and sure as a prize fighter’s.”

“Did you notice that the poor woman was rather pretty?” commented Mollie.

“My dear child,” cried Miss Sallie, “I really believe you would notice people’s looks on the way to your own execution. Now, for my part, I could not see anything. I was almost too frightened to breathe. I felt that I should faint at any moment.”

“Why, Aunt Sallie, you are more frightened now than you were then,” exclaimed her niece. “You were as calm as the night. As for Grace, she looked like a scared rabbit. Mollie, darling, I’m glad you had the presence of mind to scream. If you hadn’t Aunt Sallie and the motor cyclist might have looked for us in vain.”

While she was speaking the cyclist came into the dining-room.

As soon as Miss Stuart saw him she rose from the table in her most stately manner and walked over to meet him.

“Sir,” she said, and Ruth gave the merest flicker of a blink at Bab, “you did a very brave thing to-day, and I want to thank you for all of us. If you had not been there my niece and her friend would undoubtedly have been kidnapped. You perhaps saved their lives. They might have been killed by those ruffians. Won’t you give us your name and address? My brother, I am sure, would like to write to you himself. We shall be indebted to you always.”

The young man’s face flushed with embarrassment.

“It was nothing, I assure you, Madam,” he replied. “It was easy because the man was intoxicated. He went over at the first blow. My name,” he continued, “is Martinez. José Martinez. My address is the Waldorf, New York.”

“I am Miss Stuart,” said Miss Sallie, “and I would like to present you to my niece, Miss Ruth Stuart, and her friends Miss Grace Carter and Misses Barbara and Mollie Thurston. It would give us great pleasure if you would lunch with us, Mr. Martinez.”

“When a man saves your life you certainly can’t stand on ceremony,” commented Miss Sallie to herself.

An animated discussion followed. Mr. Martinez had been to see the chief of police, he said, who would call on Miss Stuart that afternoon, if convenient. He could not offer any hope, however, of catching the men.

Miss Sallie replied that, for her part, she hoped they wouldn’t take the creatures. It would do no good and she did not want to spend any time cooped up in a court room in such scorching weather. But did Mr. Martinez think it would be dangerous for them to take a trip up into the hills the next day?

“It would depend upon the road,” replied Mr. Martinez. “That is, if the trip were taken by automobile. Of course my motor cycle can run on any road.”

“It is a good road,” replied Ruth. “At the crossroads there is a bad road; but, fortunately, we do not have to take it, since the new road with the bridge has been opened up, so Major Ten Eyck says.”

In which case Mr. José Martinez was of a mind with the young ladies that the trip would be perfectly safe.

Miss Sallie gave a sigh of relief. If this estimable young man sanctioned the trip she felt they might take it with clear consciences. But she did hope her brother’s views on the subject would be the same.

Then the talk drifted into other channels.

“You are a Spaniard, I presume, Mr. Martinez?” questioned Miss Sallie.

“Yes, Madam, a Spaniard by birth, a Frenchman by education and at present an American by choice. I have lived in England, also, but I believe I prefer America to all other countries, even my own.”

Miss Stuart was much gratified at this avowal. She felt that in complimenting America he was complimenting her indirectly.

“Have you seen the Alhambra and the Rock of Gibraltar?” demanded Mollie, her wide, blue eyes full of interest.

“Oh, yes, Madamoiselle,” replied the handsome Spaniard, smiling at her gently, “I have seen the Alhambra many times, and Gibraltar once only.” A curious shade passed over his face as if Gibraltar held memories which he was not anxious to revive.

“Does the Rock of Gibraltar really look like a lion?” asked Grace, who had not noticed his distaste to the mere mention of the name.

“I do not know, Madamoiselle,” he replied shortly. “I saw it only from land. I was,” he added hesitatingly, “very ill when I was there.”

The waiter announced the chief of police to see Miss Sallie, and the luncheon party adjourned to the shady side of the piazza.

All this time Barbara had been very quiet, so quiet, indeed, that Ruth had asked her in a whisper, as they left the dining room, if she were still feeling the shock of the morning.

“Oh, no,” replied Barbara, “I am simply trying to stifle a ridiculous fear I have that, maybe, we ought not to go to-morrow. It is absurd, so please don’t mention it to the others, especially as even Miss Sallie thinks it safe, and little coward Mollie is not afraid.”

“You are just tired, poor dear,” said sympathetic Ruth. “Come along up to your room, and we shall have a little ‘relaxation,’ as my old colored mammy used to say. We’ll spend a quiet afternoon in our rooms, and at sunset we can take a spin along the river bank before supper. What do you say?”

“I am agreeable,” replied Bab.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Martinez,” said Ruth, as the others came up. “You will be wanting to take your siesta now, I suppose. Siestas, in Spain, are like afternoon tea in England, aren’t they? Here in America we don’t have either, much, but I think we shall need both to-day. Perhaps we shall see you at dinner?”

“If I may have that pleasure,” replied the Spaniard, bowing low.

“Strangers of the morning are friends in the afternoon, in this, our life of adventure,” laughed Ruth as they passed along the corridor to the steps.

But they did not see the stranger again that day. For some mysterious reason he left the hotel in the afternoon, and did not return until nearly midnight, when Barbara, who happened to be awake, heard him whistling softly as he went down the hall to his room.

CHAPTER VI – A FOREST SCRIMMAGE

It was really Miss Sallie Stuart’s fault that they were so late in starting the next day to Major Ten Eyck’s home.

The automobile had been ordered to be on hand immediately after an early luncheon, but another call from one of the town police caused the first delay.

The tramps had securely hidden themselves, the officer said, and no trace of them had been found in other towns in that vicinity.

The second delay was caused by a telegram from Miss Stuart’s dressmaker, stating that a dress had been expressed to her which would reach Tarrytown that morning. Bab and Mollie were also expecting an express package of fresh clothes and their organdie dresses, which they felt, now, they would assuredly need.

Consequently the party waited patiently for these ever-necessary feminine adornments, and it was four o’clock before the girls started.

A third delay was caused by the puncture of a tire just as they were leaving the hotel. Now they were obliged to go to the nearest garage and have it repaired, which consumed another three quarters of an hour.

However, it was pleasanter riding in the cool of the afternoon, and they still hoped to reach Ten Eyck Hall long before dark. It was a very gay party that finally took the road, swathed in chiffon veils and dusters.

“I never felt so much interested in a visit as I do in this one,” remarked Ruth. “Certainly we ought to be glad to get there after all these mishaps and delays.”

Barbara was still in her silent humor. She sat with her small handbag clasped tightly on her knees and looked straight before her, as though she were watching for something.

“Bab, my child, what is it?” asked Ruth. “You have been in a brown study all day.”

“Nothing at all, dear,” replied Bab, smiling. “Perhaps this haziness goes to my head a little. But I am awfully glad, too, about the visit. I always wanted to see an old colonial house, and the only way really is to stay in it. If we have the run of the rooms, and all the halls and galleries, we can get to know it much more intimately than if we were just sight-seers being conducted through by an aged housekeeper.”

Meanwhile, on the back seat, Miss Sallie was in a reminiscent mood. It was very agreeable to her to hark back to the joyous days of her youth, for Miss Stuart had been a belle, and the two girls were listening with pleasure to her accounts of the gallant major, who had been graduated from West Point ahead of time in order to join the army during the Civil War.

The conversation was interrupted by the sudden stoppage of the automobile at the crossroads, one of which led straight into the woods, while the other branched off into the open, crossing the now dry bed of a river spanning which was the new bridge.

“This is the right road, of course,” said Ruth, taking the one with the bridge.

“Wait!” cried Barbara. “There’s something stretched across the bridge.”

Sure enough, a rope blocked all passage over the bridge, which was quite a long one. Secured to the rope with cords was a plank on which was painted:

“DANGEROUS: TAKE THE OTHER ROAD!”

“The paint on the sign is still sticky,” exclaimed Barbara who had jumped out and run over to take a good look at it. “And the bridge is broken. There is a large hole, like a gash, on one side, and another further down.”

“How remarkable!” replied Ruth. “It must have happened some time this morning. I do not suppose Major Ten Eyck knows anything about it, or he would have let us know. I’ll back up, anyway, to the crossroads, and we can decide what to do. We could go on, I suppose. The major said the other road passed his front gate, but it was a longer one and not such good traveling. What do you say, Aunt Sallie? Speak up, girls, are you all agreed?”

Miss Sallie was much troubled. She wanted to go and she did not want to go, and her mind was in a turmoil.

Bab was silent, and Grace and Mollie looked ready for anything.

“Well,” said Miss Sallie, after a moment’s reflection, “it is very dangerous and very venturesome; but, having got thus far, let us proceed on our way.” She folded her hands resignedly, like a martyred saint.

“Then off we go!” cried Ruth. The automobile rolled into the wooded road that penetrated a deeper part of the forest.

The dense shade was a relief after the open, dusty country. Tall trees interlaced their branches overhead and the ground was carpeted with fern and bracken.

But an uneasiness had come upon the automobilists. They did not attempt to explain it, for there was no apparent cause. The road was excellent so far, smooth and level; but something was in the air. Miss Sallie was the first to break the silence.

“I am terribly frightened,” she admitted, in a low voice. “We must have been bewitched to have attempted this ride. Ruth, my dear, I beg of you to turn and go back. I feel that we are running into danger.”

Ruth slowed up the machine a little, and called over her shoulder:

“You are right, Aunt Sallie, but I am afraid we can’t turn just yet, because there isn’t room. Anyway, we may be nearer to the other end of the wood by this time.”

The car sped on again, only to stop with such a sudden jerk, in the very depths of the forest, that the machinery ceased to whir and in a moment was silent.

For a few moments all hands sat perfectly still, dumb with terror and amazement.

Across the road was stretched another rope. There was no sign board on it to tell them there was danger ahead, but the girls needed none. They felt that there was danger ahead, behind, and all around them. They knew they were in a trap, and that the danger that threatened them would make itself known all too soon.

Barbara had whispered to Ruth.

“Back up as fast as you can!”

Ruth had replied in another whisper:

“I can’t before I crank up.”

Regaining her nerve, Ruth was about to leap to the ground when she saw, and the four others saw at the same moment, the figure of a man standing by a tree at the roadside. It would seem that he had been standing there all along, but so still and motionless that he might been one of the trees themselves. And for two reasons he was a terrifying spectacle: one because his features were entirely concealed by a black mask, the other because he carried in one hand a gleaming and remarkably sharp looking knife, a kind of dagger, the blade slightly curved and pointed at the end, the silver handle chased all over in an intricate design.

To her dying day Bab would never forget the picture he made.

He wore a dark green velveteen suit, like a huntsman’s, and a felt hat with a hanging brim that covered his head.

“Pardon me, ladies,” he said in a curious, false voice, “but I must request you to keep your places.”

Ruth, who was poised just over the step, fell back beside Barbara, who had maintained her position, and sat with blanched cheeks and tightly closed lips.

The highwayman then deliberately slashed all four tires with his murderous looking weapon. At each explosion Miss Sallie gave a stifled groan.

“Do not cry out, Madam,” said the robber sternly, “or it will go hard with you.”

“Be still,” whispered little Mollie, bravely taking Miss Stuart’s hand and patting it gently.

“And now, ladies,” continued the man more politely, “I must ask you to put all your money and jewelry in a pile here. Stand up,” he said to Barbara. “Put it on this seat and leave out nothing or you will regret it.”

The five women began mechanically to remove what simple jewelry they happened to be wearing, for the most part pins, rings, bracelets and watches, the latter Ruth’s and Grace’s. Then came the pocket books, Mollie’s little blue silk knitted purse topping the pyramid.

“But this is not all your money,” said the robber impatiently. “Do not delay. It is getting late.”

“I have some more in my bag,” said Ruth faintly. “Mollie, it is on the back seat. Will you hand it to me?”

Mollie searched with trembling hands for the bag which was stored somewhere under the seat.

“And have you nothing in that bag?” asked the highwayman, turning roughly to Barbara.

She did not answer at first. Her lips were moving silently and the others thought she must be praying. Only Mollie knew she was repeating, for the second time since they had left home, the words her mother had taught her: “Heaven make me calm in the face of danger.”

The highwayman laid his hand on the bag, flourishing his knife in a menacing way.

“Wait,” she said calmly, looking at him with such contempt that his eyes dropped before her.

Placing the bag on Ruth’s lap, Bab slowly opened it, fumbled inside for a moment and drew out a small pistol.

It caught a last ray of the setting sun, which had filtered through the trees and gleamed dangerously, in spite of its miniature size.

Barbara pointed it deliberately at the robber, with a steady hand, and said quietly:

“Drop that knife and run unless you want me to shoot you!”

The robber stared at her in amazement.

“Quick!” she said and gave the trigger an ominous click.

The pistol was pointed straight at his midwaist.

“Drop the knife,” repeated Barbara, “and back off.”

He dropped the knife and started backward down the road.

“Now, run!” cried Barbara. And the highwayman turned and walked swiftly until he was out of sight.

“There’s no time to be lost,” cried Barbara. The other four women sat as if in a trance. Their deliverance had been so unexpected that they were still suffering from the shock.

Miss Sallie began to wring her hands in frantic despair.

“Girls, girls!” she wept, “I have brought you to this pass! What shall we do? The man is sure to come back. We can’t stay here all night! Oh mercy! why did I ever consent to take this dangerous trip? It’s all my fault!”

“Don’t cry, Aunt Sallie, dearest! It’s everybody’s fault, and you mustn’t waste your strength,” urged Ruth, trying to comfort her aunt, whose nerves had had about all they could endure by now. “What do you think we’d better do?” continued Ruth, turning to Barbara, who, with her pistol was keeping watch at the back of the automobile.

“I think we shall have to walk,” replied Barbara. “There is no other way, and we must start at once, before it gets dark. Ruth, you and Grace help Miss Sallie. Mollie, put all the valuables on the seat into my bag. There is no time to divide them now. We had better not try to carry anything except the small bags.”

The little company seemed to feel a kind of relief in submitting itself to Barbara’s direction. Each doing as she was bid, they started down the wood road, leaving the car with all their baggage behind them.

Miss Sallie had recovered her composure. The necessity of moving quickly, had taken her mind off the situation for the present, and she walked at as brisk a pace as did the girls.

Barbara had directed Mollie to walk a little in front and to keep a sharp lookout, while Bab brought up the rear and watched the sides of the road as vigilantly as a guard in war time, her pistol cocked, ready to defend and fight for her friends and sister to her last breath.

Presently curiosity got the better of Ruth.

“Bab,” she asked, “where on earth did you get that pistol?”

“From your father,” answered Bab. “That was the secret. Don’t you remember? But we must not risk talking now. The quieter we are the better. Voices carry in these woods.”

“You are quite right, Bab, dear,” replied Ruth, under her breath, and not another word was spoken.

Each one was engaged in her own thoughts as the silent procession moved swiftly on.

Miss Sallie was wondering whether they would ever see morning alive.

Grace, who was very devout, was praying softly to herself.

Ruth, in the innermost depths of her mind, was secretly enjoying the whole adventure, dangerous as it was.

Mollie was feeling homesick for her mother, while Bab had no time for any thought than the one that the highwayman might appear at any moment, and from any direction. Who knew but that he had turned and doubled on them, and would spring at them from the next tree?

Presently Mollie, who was a few feet in advance of the others, paused.

“Look!” she whispered as the others came up. “I see the light of a fire through the trees. I hear voices, too.”

Sure enough, through the interlacing branches of the trees, they could distinctly see the glow of a large fire.

“Wait,” exclaimed Bah under her breath. “Stand here at the side of the road, where you will be hidden. Perhaps we may find help at last.” Creeping cautiously among the trees she disappeared in the darkness. It seemed an age to the others, waiting on the edge of the narrow woodland road, but it was only a few minutes, in reality, before Bab was back again.

“They are Gypsies,” she whispered. “I can tell by their wagons and tents.”

“Gypsies!” exclaimed Miss Sallie, with a tragic gesture of both hands. “We shall all be murdered as well as robbed!”

“No, no,” protested Mollie. “I have a friend who is a Gypsy. This may be her tribe. Suppose I go and see. Let me go. Now, Bab,” as her sister touched her with a detaining hand, “I want to do something.”

And little Mollie, with set lips and pale cheeks, her courageous heart throbbing with repressed excitement, stole off into the dense shadows of the forest.

It seemed another age before the stillness was broken again by the sound of crackling underbrush, and Mollie’s figure was gradually outlined in the blackness.

“I couldn’t tell,” she said. “They seemed to be only men sitting around the fire smoking. I was afraid to get any nearer for fear one of them might be the robber. They say Gypsies can be very kind, but I think it would be better if we all went together and asked for help, if we go at all. The men looked very fierce,” she added faintly, slipping her hand into her sister’s for sympathy.

“Dearest little sister,” whispered Bab, kissing her, “don’t ever say again you are a coward.”

Then two persons emerged from between the trees on the other side of the road.

The five women held their breath in fear and suspense as the figures approached, evidently without having seen these women standing in the shadow. They were close enough now for the automobilists to make out that they were two women, one young and the other old apparently.