ut; "were you frightened about me?"

"Mary! Mary!" he exclaimed. "What does it mean?" and each word
sounded like a low moan.

Plainly he was trying to figure out what had happened that the child
should return with strangers. Likely he had feared an accident.

"It only means, Grandie, that we have friends, and you are not to
refuse them. Let us hurry in before Reda returns. Can your man wait?"
she asked Jennie.

"Not very long, I'm afraid," Jennie replied. "We too have folks who
may be anxious about us. But we will be glad to meet your
grandfather." How the girls blessed her for this!

"Call him professor. Everyone does," Mary managed to say as they
alighted.

"Come in, welcome!" announced the man, turning to the foot path that
outlined the drive leading to the house.

It was a queer party that left the auto and silently followed Mary and
the professor up to the artistic cottage, that stood almost hidden in
tall, heavy chestnut trees. In spite of the general loss of this sort
of tree, those sheltering the terra cottage bungalow were especially
healthy and majestic, as could be seen even in the fast descending
nightfall.

Mary rushed on ahead and touched the electric light button inside the
door, then she threw open the portal, quite like an experienced little
hostess.

"This is the Imlay studio," remarked Jennie, who was the only one in
the party familiar with Bellaire. "I thought it was closed when he
died so suddenly."

"Did he die here?" asked the man Mary called Grandie, a note of alarm
in his voice.

"Oh no, he was abroad and did not return," replied Jennie. It was
evident this information brought relief to the questioner, for under
the light that shone from the spray of brass lanterns his face
perceptibly softened.

Somehow all the mysterious influence which had seemed to surround Mary
at their first meeting with her was now oppressively noticeable within
that house. It was scantily furnished with what remained of artist
Imlay's belongings, but the air of suspicion usually associated with
old, abandoned places seemed to fairly seethe through the air. Even
Jennie felt it, and to the scout girls, more vividly conscious always
of any antagonism, the surroundings were actually uncanny.

"Won't you sit down?" said Mary, observing the almost rigid attitude of
her callers. But each politely declined to share the seat offered on
the handsome low divan. Grace noticed its carvings looked rat