ooth talker, and he seems to have disappeared."

"How--how can you find him?" asked Grace.

"I'm going to have your Uncle Isaac trace him. He knows the South better
than I, and can work to better advantage. That is why I came back. Uncle
Isaac is in New York City now. I am going to telegraph him to come on
here and I'll give him the particulars. Then he can hunt for Will. Poor
boy! I guess he wishes now that he'd stayed in the mill."

The news was broken to Mrs. Ford as gently as could be, but it nearly
prostrated her. Then Uncle Isaac came, and to his credit be it said that
he was kinder than his wont. He seemed really sympathetic and did not
once say, "I told you so!"

He readily agreed to search for his nephew, and left for the South as
soon as he could finish his business.

"I guess our Florida trip is all off," said Grace with a sigh, one
evening.

"Not at all," said her father. "I want you girls to go. It may be that
you might hear some word of Will."

"Then we will go!" his sister cried. "Oh! I do hope we can find him."

The preparations for the Florida trip went on. Meanwhile nothing was
heard from the missing youth, and Uncle Isaac had no success.

Then, most unexpectedly, there came word from the boy himself--indirect
word--but news just the same.

It was in the shape of a letter from a Southern planter, who said one of
his hands had picked up the enclosed note in a cotton field near a
railroad track. It had probably been tossed from a train window, and had
laid some time in the field, being rain-soaked. It bore Mr. Ford's
address, and so the planter forwarded it. The note was as follows:

"DEAR DAD: I certainly am in trouble. That
development business was a fake, and I have
literally been kidnapped, with a lot of other
young fellows--some colored. They're taking us
away to a turpentine swamp to work. I've tried to
escape, but it's no use. I appealed for help to
the crowd, as did some of the others, but the
contractors declared we were a lot of criminals
farmed out by the State. And, as a lot of their
workers really are convicts, I had no show. I
don't know what to do--help me if you can. I don't
know where they're taking us, but if I get a
chance I'll send word. I'm scribbling this under
my hat in the train, and I'm going to toss it out
the window