hed.

"But you will see him to-morrow," Cleo reminded her. "Why write?"

"Oh, I like him to get my good morning kiss with his breakfast,"
responded Mary, "and, besides, I may be able to prepare him for some of
the surprises."

So Cleo, Grace and Madaline went off to the village, although reluctant
to leave Mary alone. Still, her plea to write letters seemed a request
not to be interrupted.

Almost before it could be realized thunder rolled over the mountains.
A telephone announced the girls would stay with Lucille and Lalia, whom
they had met in town, and that all would return by auto as soon as the
shower passed. Mary sat by the low window looking ever the porch.
Jennie was busy in the kitchen, and Mrs. Dunbar was in her study,
writing to the home-coming boy. The storm came on so suddenly that
Mary hurried to close the long French window off the living room, when
something like a moan sounded, she thought, under the window!

She listened! Yes, surely that was someone moaning. Stepping through
the window out onto the porch, a sheet of rain dashed in her face,
blinding her so that, for the moment, she was forced to take refuge
behind the swinging hammock.

Flashes of lightning now showed a blackened sky, and the terrifying
peals of thunder seemed to swallow every other earthly sound.

"But I am sure I heard a human voice," Mary told herself. "I must see
if anyone is about here suffering."

She was minded to attempt to call for Jennie, when again a low, pitiful
moan came as an echo to a terrific thunder clap.

"Who is it?" called Mary, but the sound had died down, and was lost in
the storm.

"It could not have been Shep," Mary was thinking, "and I can't go
inside without finding out what it is. Who is there?" she called,
bravely throwing her skirt over her head to ward off the beating rain.

"Mary! Marie, come to Reda!" came a faint reply, and at the sound of
the voice, unmistakably that of her old nurse, Mary jumped from the
porch, out into the blasting storm, and attempted to follow the
direction whence came the sound.

"Reda! Reda! Where are you?" she called frantically. "It is I, Mary.
Answer, where are you?" She stopped under a tree to avoid a very
deluge that poured down on the path. For a moment she hesitated. What
if that letter from New York had been a ruse to trick her into
following someone with the idea of helping Reda? But surely that was
Reda's cry.

Again she called and call