The next morning, quite late, for it was nearly ten o’clock, Aunt Betty and the two girls arose. The hotel people had arranged to have the breakfasts sent up to all the unfortunate ones, and otherwise made them as comfortable as possible.

The trio breakfasted and Aunt Betty suggested, “Dorothy, dear, I think it would be a wise idea to telephone over to the hotel and find out if any of our things were left unharmed by the fire, and ask, too, if we might come back there now.”

“Yes, Aunt Betty,” answered Dorothy, as she started for the ’phone. She talked over the wire for several minutes, then returning to her aunt and Alfy said, “They say that some of our things have not been spoiled at all, but that the rooms are a complete wreck, because the firemen broke all the windows when they stopped the fire at that point. We have been given a suite on the second floor, and all the things which belong to us have been moved down there.”

“Ah,” interrupted Alfy. “I am so glad there are some things left. I was afraid we would have to go about all day in blankets and look like Indian squaws.”

“No, indeed,” answered Dorothy. “They are going to send us in our coats, so that we can get to the carriage that they have placed at the disposal of the guests and be driven right to the door.”

“They have certainly tried to be as considerate as possible to all their guests,” said Mrs. Calvert.

“Here,” said Dorothy, answering a loud knock at the door, “here are our coats now.”

“Come, let us see what we have left, for I feel sure that we will have to hurry and get more clothes for you girls if we have to start for Washington very soon,” rejoined Mrs. Calvert.

They all slipped on their outer garments, and very quickly were carried downstairs by the elevator. They hurried into their carriage and very soon were located in their new suite of rooms.

“Oh, just look, Aunt Betty!” exclaimed Dorothy. “See, the trunks we packed last night with all our good things are all right. The water never leaked through at all.”

“That saves us a good deal of trouble and expense, doesn’t it? I certainly thought that all three of us would have to be fitted out entirely again. I am very, very glad that we were so fortunate,” answered Aunt Betty.

“Oh, dear!” exclaimed Alfy. “Oh, dear, just see! Isn’t it too bad that I didn’t stay home and pack instead of going to church with Jim last night. All I have in my trunk is the two white dresses you made me at Bellevieu before we started on the trip, and my raincoat. Oh! Oh! Oh! And I forgot all about it. I intended to show it to you right away as soon as I reached Bellevieu. I begged Ma Babcock so for it, and then to think I clean forgot it! Ah, she will be so disappointed to know I forgot it.”

“Why, Alfy child,” remonstrated Aunt Betty. “What are you talking about? There now, calm yourself and tell me.”

“It’s this,” replied Alfy, holding up a piece of linen about a foot square, “this sampler. I found it in an old box in the closet of the spare room Ma had fixed up in the barn, when I was searching for my raincoat just before I left home. Ma said a school friend, a little Baltimore girl who was ‘up Mounting’ summering, and who fell ill and stayed all winter and went to school with Ma, made it for her.” And Alfy handed the square of linen to Mrs. Calvert. Aunt Betty took it up and carefully examined it while Dorothy looked over her shoulder and tried to see it too.

“Why,” exclaimed Mrs. Calvert, “this is beautiful work! Just beautiful! And what is the name? Dorothy dear, will you see if you can find my glasses? I put them in my work bag, which I put in the tray of the trunk. Yes, way down in the right hand corner.”

Dorothy crossed over to the trunk and immediately found the desired bag, and opening it took out the glasses. “Here they are, Aunt Betty,” she said, handing them to her.

Aunt Betty put the glasses on and proceeded carefully to examine the sampler.

“Oh!” she exclaimed. “I have it now! The name is in this corner, and as far as I can make it out is ‘Hannah.’ ‘Hannah’ something. ‘Morrow.’ Maybe that’s it.”

“Let me see,” interrupted Dorothy, “maybe I can make it out. I think the first letter is ‘W,’ not ‘M,’” and turning to Alfy, “what did Ma Babcock say about the name?”

“Ma said that it was Hannah somebody, and that she was a poor sickly girl. She lived in Baltimore and married a man who did not treat her well, and died shortly after. I forget what she said her last name was. But she said she married a man whose name was ‘Halley’ or ‘Haley,’” answered Alfy.

“Oh, Aunt Betty, I have it!” exclaimed Dorothy joyously. “I have it! It’s ‘Woodrow,’ ‘W-o-o-d-r-o-w, Woodrow.’”

“Yes, that’s it. I recollect, now, ma saying, ‘Hannah Woodrow,’” chimed in Alfy.

“I wonder,” said Aunt Betty, slowly, for she had been thinking, “I wonder if it could be? You see, little Lem, Lem Haley, had no mother or father, and just lived with his uncle, who abused him terribly. It was he we found that night in the forest when we were camping. Do you think it could be possible that this sampler was made by his mother? Poor, unfortunate woman.”

“Maybe we have some clue to work on now,” said Dorothy. “Wouldn’t it be odd if it was his mother who made this sampler? She could sew well if it was, for there are many hard and difficult stitches in that.”

“And,” added Alfy, “Ma said she was a rich girl; her folks had lots of money, ’cause she dressed so nicely. And they paid Grandma Brown good board, so ma said.”

“May I have the sampler, Alfy?” asked Mrs. Calvert.

“Yes, indeed,” answered Alfy. “Ma Babcock said for me to give it to you, as maybe you would be interested in it.”

“I am going to take it to my lawyer and see what he says about it. You say you think that Mrs. Haley, or Hannah Woodrow, is dead?” added Aunt Betty.

“Yes, ma said that she had not heard from her in so long that she was sure that the poor unfortunate lady was dead,” answered Alfaretta.

“I have felt all along that there was some dreadful catastrophe or mystery about little Lem. His uncle was such a hard, cruel man, and little Lem knew very little or nothing about his early life or parents. All that he knew was that he was bound out to this harsh and cruel man whom he called uncle, and made to work very hard, too hard, indeed, for a child, for his board,” remarked Aunt Betty.

“I do hope we can find out something about his people. He is such a good boy, and now he goes to school and he is such an apt pupil,” added Dorothy.

“Come now, we must dress and arrange our things and see what we need. You girls please dress as quickly as possible and each make out a list of what you have lost. In that way I can tell at a glance what is needed, and we can go shopping this afternoon. I will also send Jim to my lawyer with a note, and this sampler,” remarked Aunt Betty. And they all hurried away to dress.

Aunt Betty, finishing first, rang for Jim. Jim came to her and she said, “Jim, here is a sampler that Ma Babcock had and let Alfy bring to me. It was made by a girl named Hannah Woodrow, who married a man named Haley, who was cruel to her. It is supposed that the unfortunate woman died. The girl was a Baltimore girl who spent a year with Mrs. Babcock’s mother and attended school with Ma Babcock. She is thought to have been rich. I wonder if in any way she could have been related to little Lem Haley. We must try to trace up all facts and get to the bottom of things. I have written a letter, and I thought you would not mind taking it and the sampler to my lawyer.”

“Where is it?” asked Jim. “I will go gladly.”

“You go to Mr. Van Zandt, at 115 Broadway,” replied Mrs. Calvert. “Give him the package and the letter and tell him I am going out of town to-morrow at noon to Washington, and that I will send him a complete route list later on as soon as all our plans are made.”

“All right,” answered Jim, taking the package and putting the letter into his coat pocket. “I will not be back directly, if that makes no difference to you. I have a little shopping I should like to do this afternoon.” So saying, Jim left on his errand.

At Mrs. Calvert’s suggestion the girls began making out a list of things that were missing so that they could replace them that afternoon if possible.

Suddenly Dorothy rushed into the room where Aunt Betty was quietly seated reading and trying to collect her nerves that she said had been shattered by the experiences of the night before.

“Aunt Betty, dear Aunt Betty, I can’t find my locket!” she cried. “Alfy and I have hunted all over. We searched everything before we came to you with the news. We didn’t want to bother you till we were sure that we hadn’t merely mislaid it.”

“Are you sure, dear, you have looked all over everything you have?” questioned Aunt Betty.

“Yes, and there is no trace of it anywhere,” replied the girl. “And it’s the only locket I have and has the pictures of mother and father in it. The only pictures we have of them.”

“Well, dear, don’t let’s give up hope yet. Let me go with you and look,” answered her aunt.

“Dear Aunt Betty, I am sure it isn’t in there. I always wear it. You know I do. Ever since you gave it to me it has been my most cherished possession,” bewailed Dorothy.

“No, it isn’t anywhere in there,” said Alfy, decidedly, walking into the room at that moment. “I, myself, have searched everywhere, and you know how thorough I am, Mrs. Calvert.”

“Maybe it’s upstairs in our old rooms,” suggested Aunt Betty. “They might have mislaid it.”

“I will ring for a maid and then Alfy and I will go up with her and look,” answered Dorothy, immediately acting on the suggestion.

“It must be up there, dear, as everything else came down safely, and all my jewelry is intact,” added Mrs. Calvert.

“I do hope it is. It has given me such a scare,” rejoined Alfy.

“Come along, Alfy; we are going up now,” said Dorothy, as the maid appeared in answer to her summons.

“We’ll be right down, Aunt Betty.” And with that the girls departed.

In a few moments they came back, and by just glancing at them Aunt Betty knew that the quest had failed.

“No, it is nowhere there,” said Dorothy sadly, “nowhere there.”

“Ring for the manager, dear, and I will see him and see what he suggests doing. The locket is of no value to anyone else. Its main value is in the pictures. I am very sorry I have no other copy of them. I have a picture of your father when he was younger, a mere boy at our Baltimore home, Bellevieu, but I never had another picture of your mother, dear,” said Aunt Betty.

The manager came now in response to their call, and Aunt Betty told him of the loss of the locket, and wherein its value lay. He was very sorry indeed to hear of the loss, but felt hopeful that he could restore the locket to them in the course of an hour or two.

Dorothy turned to Aunt Betty as the manager left the room, and flung herself weeping into her lap.

“Dear, dear child,” soothed Aunt Betty, “don’t be foolish, dear. There are still hopes of its being found.”

“But they are the only pictures I ever had of them,” bemoaned the little girl. The dear old lady took the young girl in her arms and comforted her with hopeful suggestion and loving words of encouragement.

CHAPTER XI.
THE TOUR BEGINS

On his way downtown, Jim paused in front of Lebolt’s on Fifth avenue, one of New York’s biggest jewelry houses. The windows were full of attractive pieces of jewelry. One thing in particular caught his eye, a little pendant of gold and pearls. He thought at once of Dorothy and wanted very much to give her something – something nice because of the previous day’s happenings – something that would help her to remember him very often – a little token of his regard.

He went inside and inquired of a clerk where he could see pendants, and was directed to a near counter. He was shown many, and after having quite a hard time choosing which he liked best at a price he could afford to pay he finally decided on a little bunch of grapes formed of a cluster of pearls, with the leaves and vine of gold hung on a slender chain – altogether a very dainty and appropriate gift. And he left the store thinking of how he would present this to Dorothy, for he wanted no one to know of his reasons for giving it to her but himself – and she.

Taking a car he soon came to the vicinity of the lawyer’s office and looking over the bulletin at the entrance he located a sign with his name upon it. On reaching a small outer office he asked of a pleasant faced girl sitting there, “Can I see Mr. Van Zandt? I have a package and letter to deliver to him personally.”

“Mr. Van Zandt,” answered the girl, “is just now very busy. He is conferring with another lawyer, and I cannot disturb him, as he left word that on no account and for no one should I bother him. He will not be much longer, and if you would care to wait for a half hour, I am sure that you could see him then.”

“I will wait,” said Jim in reply. The girl then showed him into a little library off to one side of the office where there were some easy chairs. Picking out one that looked particularly comfortable to him he took up a magazine from the well laden table, and seating himself started to read.

After waiting half an hour or more, he was finally admitted into a room wherein sat Mr. Van Zandt, at a desk strewn entirely with legal papers.

“Mr. Van Zandt, I am from Mrs. Calvert. She sent me here with a letter and package for you,” said Jim.

“Most opportune, most opportune,” answered Mr. Van Zandt, gravely, taking the letter and package from Jim.

“Excuse me, young man, excuse me, while I see what Mrs. Calvert has to say,” he added, breaking the seal of Aunt Betty’s letter and slowly reading its contents. “Ah! So you are the Jim she speaks of in the letter, and says I may question concerning these matters?”

“Yes, indeed,” responded Jim. “Is there anything you would like to ask me?”

“No. Not that I just think of now. But I have a little story to tell you. Listen carefully and see if you can repeat the same to Mrs. Calvert, when you see her later this afternoon,” replied Mr. Van Zandt. “This was told me by a fellow colleague, the man you no doubt saw leave this office as you entered it. Strange how things come about. Long years ago there was an English family named Winchester, a father and mother and six children, four of them girls and two boys. The parents were very strict with their children, and one boy, the oldest, ran away from home, and was never heard of by the old people again. The youngest girl had a very pretty love affair, but because her parents disapproved, and I believe they would have disapproved of a saint from heaven if he wished to marry their child Marrie, she took the vows and became a sister. Two died very young, and the other two daughters lived to be old maids, and in time all died.

“The runaway son married, so much we have learned, and had one very beautiful daughter, who after, mother fashion, also ran away and married. The daughter’s name was Dorothy Winchester. The man she married was a Calvert. These two died early deaths, leaving behind, so ’tis said, a little daughter named after the mother, Dorothy Winchester Calvert.”

“Our Dorothy,” whispered Jim.

“Now, it seems to me that Mrs. Calvert was sister-in-law to the Calvert that married the beautiful Dorothy Winchester. And from what I know, Dorothy Calvert, Mrs. Calvert’s ward, is the child of the former two. But as a large estate, consisting of much property in England and a great deal of money, is left to the heir or heirs of this Dorothy Winchester, we shall have to have legal proof that this girl is the right child. And when the right proof is found, my colleague will turn over to me the various papers and deeds to the estate. And after proving herself the legal heir of this estate, Miss Calvert may have to take a trip to England to see the London solicitors and straighten matters out there. They have been working on this estate for many years now, and finally, but only recently traced the son to America. That is how things have come to this point now. Will you tell Mrs. Calvert and Dorothy that I would like to see them at their earliest convenience, bringing letters, pictures and any other form of proof they may have with them?”

“I will tell them that, sir.”

“Very well. Good afternoon, young man, good afternoon,” and Mr. Van Zandt closed the interview.

Jim, after leaving Mr. Van Zandt, hurried back to the hotel, all the time thinking of the wonderful story he had to tell to Dorothy. He also wondered just how things would stand between them if Dorothy became a great English heiress. On reaching the hotel he went straight up to the girl’s rooms and there found Dorothy weeping in Aunt Betty’s lap.

“I have such good news, such wonderful news,” cried Jim. “I can’t wait to tell you. Why, Dorothy, what has happened? Tell me,” he added, catching sight of Dorothy at her aunt’s feet, her face in her lap.

Just then Dorothy smiled up at him and said, “Nothing. I was just a little foolish. Go on and tell us all your wonderful news. I would rather hear good news than tell sad, any day.”

“I have just come from your lawyer’s, Mr. Van Zandt’s, where I heard a most wonderful story. I gave him the letter and package. He read the former, and said he would give the matter attention. I had to wait for over a half hour. He was conferring with a colleague,” continued Jim.

“Oh, do hurry and get to the real story part,” said the ever impatient Alfaretta.

“Be still, Alfy. How can Jim tell us while you are talking?” commanded Dorothy.

“To go on where I left off,” continued Jim, “Mr. Van Zandt said that his colleague told him a story which he would tell me and which I was to repeat to you.

“It seems that many years ago a family named Winchester had a large estate and plenty of money in England. They had children, and one, the eldest, ran away, came to America and married. He had a little daughter who grew up to be very beautiful. Her name was Dorothy Winchester.”

At this point in the story, Aunt Betty heaved a great sigh, and grew quite pale.

“The beautiful young girl ran off with a handsome young man whose name was Calvert. And, Mrs. Calvert, the lawyer thought that to be your brother-in-law. The young couple suffered early deaths, leaving a child, a girl named after the mother, Dorothy Winchester Calvert. That, dear, is you,” and Jim paused to see the effect of his words.

Dorothy had risen, and coming to him, placed her hands in his and said, “Is this all true or just a joke?” looking eagerly in his eyes for the answer.

“Yes,” answered Jim, with an attempt at gaiety, “yes, all true.”

“Then do I understand that all Dorothy has to do is to prove she is Dorothy Winchester Calvert and she will come into this inheritance?” said Aunt Betty.

“Yes. Mr. Van Zandt said for me to tell you that he would like to see you and Dorothy as early as possible in the morning, and for you to bring with you any proofs, such as letters, pictures, etc., which you have handy in your possession,” instructed Jim.

The word pictures immediately recalled to Dorothy her late misfortune, and she turned to Aunt Betty, saying, “Dear Aunt Betty, there is all my proof gone – the pictures in that locket. They would have been just what was needed, and now the locket is gone.”

“Why has the locket gone?” questioned Jim.

“That is the sad news we had to tell you when you came in with the good news,” said Mrs. Calvert. “Dorothy has either mislaid or someone has stolen her locket, the one I gave her with the pictures of her father and mother in it.”

“There,” interrupted Alfy. “There is someone knocking. Maybe it is the manager returning with the locket. It’s an hour since he said that he would have it back to Dorothy in that time.”

The manager entered and came over to Mrs. Calvert’s chair, and said, “I am very sorry, madam, but I have not been able to recover mademoiselle’s trinket. It is nowhere to be found. I have had three maids searched, three of them, who readily admitted going into the suite upstairs. The maids were very angry, and threatened to leave my employ. Nothing could be found. We have found no trace of it at all. All we can do, madam, is to hope. I will get a detective and have him try to locate the thief. Is it of great value?”

“Just now we have had news that makes the locket of precious value. An estate, a large inheritance, hangs upon its recovery, as therein lies the only proof we have, or, I should say, did have,” answered Mrs. Calvert.

“We will do all we can,” continued the manager, “and make every effort to restore the locket as quickly as possible.” He then departed, and prepared to have the lost article traced without any delay.

“I have my list of clothes and things that are missing and will have to be replaced all made out,” said Alfy to Mrs. Calvert.

“Very good,” answered Aunt Betty. “Come into your room and I will look over your things and verify the list and see if you need anything else beside what you have written down.” Alfy and Aunt Betty went off to see about the outlay necessary to replace the loss Alfy sustained from the fire.

No sooner had they gone than Jim came over to Dorothy, looked into her eyes and said, “Girl, will this – this estate, make any difference – if the large fortune comes to you? I was so glad to hear the news, and be the one to tell you of it while I was there with Mr. Van Zandt, but somehow on my way back to the hotel I became sorry, sorry because it will mean that you will be a great English heiress, and I – I – ”

“You, Jim? You will always be my great big Jim,” said Dorothy, with a sweet, sincere smile. “But isn’t it too bad that the locket just disappeared when we needed it? And, fortune or no fortune, it’s the only picture I had of my own mother.”

“Girl,” said Jim, softly, taking the small purple velvet box out of his vest pocket, “I brought you this. It’s only a little remembrance of what has gone between us. Just a little token of my eternal regard for you. I wish it could have been more.” And he placed the little jewel box in Dorothy’s hands. He watched her carefully, noting the pleasure in her face when she opened the box and saw the dainty pendant encased in the white satin. Carefully she drew it out.

“Oh, what a beauty!” exclaimed the girl. “Jim, dear, you are so good and thoughtful. It’s just as good and dainty as it can be, and far too good for me.”

“Let me clasp it around your neck for you,” he replied. “I am glad you like it.”

But when he had his arms around the girl’s neck, clasping the slender chain in place, Jim could not resist the temptation of drawing her close to him. She did not resist, so he held her closer for a moment in a fond embrace, and then raising her head, their lips met in a loving kiss.

“My little girl,” murmured Jim. “My dear little girl.” Then releasing her he said, “I chose this pendant because I knew you would not accept a ring.” Dorothy shook her head, but made no audible response.

“Not until you have had plenty of time to know your own mind, but that you should have by the time you have returned from your trip. Then, Dorothy girl, you will give me my answer?”

“Perhaps, Jim,” whispered Dorothy. “Perhaps then I will.”

“Can’t we keep the reason, the real reason, secret. We can have this one secret from everyone else, can’t we? Tell them all it is a little parting gift from me. Then when you come back, girl, you can tell them, if you decide to – if you can love me enough. Until then it’s our secret,” said Jim.

“I must go show it to Aunt Betty and Alfy. It’s such a beautiful pendant I want everyone to see it,” said Dorothy. “And I must get my things collected, for you see I have a lot to do. I wonder if I can prove anything without the locket.”

“Maybe they will accept Aunt Betty’s word for things. But the hard part of it all is that you go away to-morrow for such a long trip,” said Jim. “And, Dorothy, how I shall miss you! I won’t know what to do without you.”

“Yes, you will,” responded Dorothy. “You will have to work and work very hard at your new position.”

“Yes, indeed I will,” laughed Jim, “very hard indeed. If I want to get married soon, I shall have to economize and save all I can.”

“Foolish boy,” said Dorothy. “Good-bye; I am going to leave you here all, all alone,” and she ran over to Jim, put her hands in his and looked up at him, saying, “You are a dear, good boy, and I shall prize my pendant highly, and wear it always, and when I do think of you.”

“That’s all I could ask,” answered Jim. “And, girl, please do take care of yourself and be careful all through this trip. I regret so much that I can’t be along with you.”

“Dorothy! Dorothy!” called Aunt Betty, from the girl’s room.

“Yes, Aunt Betty, I am coming,” answered Dorothy. As she left the room she threw a kiss with her dainty finger tips to Jim.

That afternoon was spent in ordering things they all needed, and as time saving and convenient much was done by telephone. Then in trying on various things as they came all wrapped up in attractive bundles from the stores.

Aunt Betty bought Alfy a complete new outfit, as her things were entirely ruined, and she was more than delighted with each new article. There was a plain gray suit, and one just like it for Dorothy. Alfy insisted that they would be mistaken for twins in them. And Aunt Betty ordered as a surprise to the girl a plain grey felt outing hat, which was to come in the morning.

Dorothy had a few new shirt waists and a couple of pairs of slippers; also two new gowns, one pale yellow chiffon trimmed with a little gold lace; the other a very pale shell pink crepe de chine and shadow lace. These were for her to use on the stage, and at any private affairs that might come up.

Alfy was very much pleased with a pale blue evening dress, as she had never had one before in all her life. This pretty little party dress was very simple, being made of pale blue chiffon over a shell pink satin slip, and the only trimming it had was one large rose of pink shade, catching the skirt in a dainty fold, and a few dainty pink rose buds edging the neck and sleeves.

When she tried it on she ran carefully to Dorothy and exclaimed, “Dorothy, dear, just see my new dress! Isn’t it wonderful? Do you like it? Do you think it is becoming? And look at these!” and she held up a new pair of pink satin slippers, and gloves to match.

Dorothy laughed gayly, saying, “Dear, dear Alfy, they are beautiful things, and I have never seen you look quite so fine before.”

“I must show Jim,” she answered. And off she went to the next room, where Jim sat thinking and dreaming. “What do you think of me?” she asked him.

Jim looked up, saw Alfy, and said, “You look like a very fine young lady who has just stepped out of a picture.” And he made a mental note of the fact that the girl had no ornament about her neck, and made a resolution to get up early and go out the next morning and buy Alfy a string of coral beads that he thought were just needed to finish her costume. These he would give Alfy for her parting gift.

The next morning Jim carried out his purpose and bought the string of corals, pale pink, graduated beads, a string just long enough to go around the girl’s neck. And for Mrs. Calvert he bought a set of collar and belt pins to match in heavy dull gold.

These two gifts he labeled and sent up to them. He was busy that morning moving his possessions to Mrs. Quarren’s so that he would be all ready to occupy his room there that evening. He was to meet Dorothy and the rest of her party at the Pennsylvania station at noon time.

Mrs. Calvert, Dorothy and Alfaretta, as early as possible, went down to the lawyer’s office.

“Mr. Van Zandt will receive you in his room right away. He expected you,” said the pleasant faced girl, as Aunt Betty and the two girls walked into the office.

“Mr. Van Zandt, this is my ward and niece, Miss Dorothy Winchester Calvert and her friend, Miss Alfaretta Babcock,” said Aunt Betty, introducing the two girls.

“So you are the fortunate Miss Dorothy Winchester Calvert,” the lawyer gravely said. “Let me see, little miss, how about the proof I must have? Proof is what is needed now. My colleague has to be satisfied. So do the London solicitors.”

“Until yesterday, Mr. Van Zandt, Dorothy always wore a locket around her neck in which were her mother’s and father’s pictures. We were unfortunately caught in a hotel fire, and some of our things were destroyed. This locket has been missing since the fire. The hotel people have since then done their utmost to trace the missing article, whose value now is priceless, and nothing has been seen of it. Detectives are now working on the case.”

“Most unfortunate – most unfortunate,” commented Mr. Van Zandt. “Have you no other proof?”

“There is my word, some old letters, and a picture of Dorothy’s father taken when he was quite young, which I have at Bellevieu. I will send for them and have Jim bring them to you. In the meantime, he has promised to attend to the tracing of the locket, and will report to you about it,” answered Aunt Betty.

“I will let you know, too, Mrs. Calvert, how my colleague takes this news, and,” added the lawyer, “I would like you and Miss Dorothy to sign a number of papers, and Miss Babcock can sign as a witness for Miss Dorothy.”

Before long they had all affixed their signatures to quite a number of important looking papers. Alfaretta felt very consequential and trembled visibly.

This did not take long, and, bidding Mr. Van Zandt good-bye, they were soon hastening to the Pennsylvania depot, to await the coming of Jim, and the others of the troupe who were to travel with them.

Dorothy hoped that Mr. Ludlow would not forget their private car, as she was anxious to see it. Aunt Betty was to have charge of it, Ruth, Alfy, and Dorothy being in her care for the entire trip.

Alfy was slowly counting the minutes off. She wanted to thank Jim, as she thought more of the little string of corals than anything else in the world just then. They had pleased her beyond words. Dorothy was glad, too, because in giving Alfy the string of corals and Aunt Betty the pins it detracted from the strangeness of his giving such a lovely present to her. Aunt Betty and Alfy were both hearty in praise of Dorothy’s new ornament, and commented on Jim’s taste in selecting it.