age to Jennie. I don't want to phone, as she might not understand."

The small boy, not difficult to find around soda fountains on summer
afternoons, was glad to accept the offer of a nickel to take a note to
Cragsnook, and thereupon the girls set out for Second Mountain.

Mary led the way, romping over vacant lots, climbing fences and
otherwise taking short cuts to the hillside.

"We accidentally found your mountain cave one day in a shower," Cleo
told her, as they neared that cedar covered mountain table. "We were
up here in that dreadful storm the other day."

"Oh, were you? Reda and I had been to the village for Grandie's
medicine, and we were also caught in it," said Mary.

No reference was made to the overheard conversation. Not that Cleo
wanted to be secretive, but because she felt it might be embarrassing
to refer to it.

In spite of the fortifying sunshine, and the fact that Mary had talked
of neighbors not far from the studio, the girls each felt a certain
apprehension as they neared the scene of their recent exciting
adventure. Madaline was noticeably quiet, and not even a beautiful
gray squirrel, that hopped directly in their path, with a saucy flirt
of its bushy tail, evoked so much as a joyous shout from her. Still
she wanted to go to the studio, and now they were in full sight of the
low terra cottage lodge.

"Oh, it will seem so strange without Grandie," Mary commented, "but I
am so happy that his memory is coming back. If only he could
remember--" She checked herself, as she always did, when accidentally
she might mention the urgent necessity for Professor Benson
"remembering."

In a very business-like way, quite astonishing to her companions, Mary
slipped her finger in a tiny pocket, made in her black velvet belt,
produced from it a latch key, and with this opened the big, heavy door.

Grace and Cleo were at her heels, determined to show their courage, but
within the room everything was still, too still to be pleasant.

"Reda put things in order before she left," Grace remarked. "What a
pretty, low, rumbly place this is!"

"How can you be sure Reda is gone?" Cleo asked, staring at the glass
door through which the queer lights had warned them of the intruders'
danger the night before.

"Here's her everyday fichu," Mary replied. "She never goes out without
one--even wears it around the house, so she has donned her best. Yes,
she has gone to New York. Here's her yellow handkerchi