ful, however, there was not much danger that Jessie's
allowance would be depleted by paying a share of the monthly hardware
bill. Anyhow, Jessie as well as Amy, went off very gayly in the
Brandon car with the minister's daughter. Mr. Brandon drove his own
car, and the girls sat in the tonneau with Mrs. Brandon, who did not
seem by any means a very old lady, even if she was a grandmother.

"But grandmothers nowadays aren't crippled up with rheumatism and
otherwise decrepit," declared Amy, the gay. "You know, I think it is
rather nice to be a grandmother these days. I am going to matriculate
for the position just as soon as I can."

They rolled out of town, and just as they turned off the boulevard to
take another road to Parkville, a big car passed the Brandon
automobile coming into town. It was being driven very rapidly, but
very skillfully, and the car was empty save for the driver.

"What beautiful cars those French cars are," Mrs. Brandon said.

"Did you see her, Jess?" cried Amy, excitedly. "Look at her go!"

"Do you speak of the car or the lady?" laughed Nell Stanley.

"She is no lady, I'd have you know," Amy rejoined scornfully. "Didn't
you know her when she passed, Jess?"

"I thought it was the car," her chum admitted. "Are you sure that was
the woman who ran off with the girl?"

"One of them," declared Amy, with confidence. "And how she can
drive!"

Naturally Mrs. Brandon and Nell wished to know the particulars of the
chums' adventure. But none of them knew who the strange woman who
drove the French car was.

"She is not at all nice, at any rate," Jessie said emphatically. "I
really wish there was some way of finding out about that girl they
carried off, and what became of her."

STRINGING THE AERIALS

CHAPTER IV

STRINGING THE AERIALS

Parkville was reached within a short time. It was still early evening.
The girls from Roselawn and their host and hostess found a number of
neighbors already gathered in the drawing-room, to listen to the
entertainments broadcasted from several radio stations.

They were too late for the bedtime story; but from the cabinet-grand,
like an expensive talking machine, the slurring notes of a jazz
orchestra greeted their ears as plainly as though it were coming from
a neighboring room instead of a broadcasting station many miles away.
Amy confessed that it made her feet itch. She loved to dance.

There was singing to follow, a really good quartette. T