ves of Charlotte's
nightgown, the patchwork quilt of the bed, the homely surroundings, all
made the contrast of the gift more striking. There was a card upon it.
Ben Barry's card: Geraldine turned it over and read: "Is the princess
happy?"

She was back among the clouds, the bright spring air flowing past her,
each breath a wonderful memory.

The two women looked at one another. They saw her close her hand on the
card. She lifted the box to them, and raised her pensive eyes.

"It is for us all," she said softly; but her ardent thought was
repeating:

"He would--he _will_ take care of himself, for me!"

CHAPTER XII

The Transformation

Into the village nearest the Carder farm rolled Ben Barry's roadster. He
stopped at the inn which made some pretension to furnishing
entertainment to the motorists who found it on their route, and after a
luncheon put up his car and walked to the village center to the
post-office and grocery store. He had most hope of the latter as a
bureau of information.

After buying some cigarettes and chocolate, and exchanging comments on
the weather with the proprietor, he introduced his subject.

"I believe Rufus Carder lives near here," he remarked.

"Yus, oh, yus," agreed the man, who was in his shirt-sleeves, and who
here patronized the cuspidor.

"He's pretty well-to-do, I understand. I should suppose if he is
public-spirited his being in the neighborhood would be a great
advantage to the village."

"Yus, _if_," returned the grocer, scornfully. "The bark on a tree ain't
a circumstance to him. Queer now, ain't it?" he went on argumentatively.
"Carder's a rich man, and so many o' these-here rich men, they act as if
they wasn't ever goin' to die. Where's the satisfaction in not usin'
their money? You know him?" The speaker cocked an eye up at the handsome
young stranger.

"I--I've met him," returned Ben.

"You might be interested, then, to hear about what happened out to the
farm yisterday. P'r'aps it'll be in the paper to-night. A young girl
visitin' the Carders was kidnapped right out o' the field by an
areoplane. Yes, sir, slick as a whistle." Ben's look of interest and
amazement rewarded the narrator. "One o' the hands from the farm come in
last night and told about it, but the editor o' the paper thought't was
a hoax and he didn't dare to work on it last night. Lots of us saw the
plane, but the feller's story did sound fishy, and if the
_Sunburst_--that's our paper-