"Not yet," said Mrs. Farrell, "though I called him twice."

"I'll get him up and down," said Gus, going toward the stairway.

"Father, have you seen Gyp?" asked Mary Farrell. "I've called him too,
but he doesn't come for his breakfast."

The farmer shook his head and, stepping to the back door, whistled
sharply and at length. Turning to come in he heard a low whine and a
quick search found the dog, lying on his side and unable to rise, his
eyes dull and bloodshot, his tongue protruding. Mr. Farrell had seen
something of the sort before. He picked up the poor little beast and
carried him to a warm bed by the kitchen stove.

"Sarah, he's been poisoned! Nothing else. Getting over it, though.
What--?" And then they heard Gus calling from above.

"Bill! Bill! Come up here, quick! Tony's gone!"

It was true and the manner of his going was very apparent. The room had
been entered from without, noiselessly and by experts. Taking advantage
not only of the lad's sleeping soundly, the housebreakers had used some
anaesthetic, for a wad of cotton that smelled like a drug store lay on
the carpet. Tony had evidently been roughly dressed. His collar, necktie
and cap lay on the bureau and his stockings on the floor. That he had
been carried out of the window and to the ground was certain. The two
ends of the ladder had left their imprint in the snow in the sill and on
the ground. The ladder itself had been thrown among the bushes.

Kidnaped! There was no question about that; but how could such a thing
have happened? A sturdy boy, able to put up a fight, and the thing done
so silently as not to waken a soul in the house. Healthy, sound
sleepers, depending on a dog--and that poor beast put down and out. Poor
Tony! What would they do with him!

Bill and Gus hastily related their affair with the ugly Sicilian and
that of which Tony had told them. They at once found that the big car
had turned about and gone. Footprints in the snow proved that the
occupants of the car had been the kidnapers.

The farmer and his family were duly excited over the case. Nothing so
dramatic had ever before happened to them. Merritt was also wrought up
to a pretty high pitch, for Tony had hired him very generously. The
young Italian had shown himself to be a courteous, well-bred gentleman
and had commanded respect. The manner of his disappearance, and the
possible tragedy lurking behind it, had earned the sympathy of them all.

But the Farrells deferre