camped--as near as I could make out," Tom remarked.

"My! I wouldn't like to meet them," his sister said.

"They wouldn't hurt us--at least, Roberto didn't," laughed Ruth.

"That's all right. But Gypsies _do_ carry off people----"

"And eat them?" scoffed Tom. "How silly, Nell!"

"Well, Mr. Smartie! they might hold us for ransom."

"Like regular brigands, eh?" returned Tom, lightly. "That _would_ be an
adventure worth chronicling."

"You can laugh----Oh!"

As she was speaking, Helen saw a head thrust out of the bushes not far
along the road they traveled.

"What's the matter?" demanded Ruth, seizing her arm.

"Look there!" But the car was past the spot in a moment. "Somebody was
watching us, and dodged back," declared Helen, anxiously.

"Oh, nonsense!" laughed her brother.

But before they took the next turn they looked back and saw two men
standing in the road, talking. They were rough-looking fellows.

"Gypsies!" cried Helen.

However, they saw nobody else for a few miles. Now they were skirting
one of the lakes in the upper chain, some miles above the gorge where
the dam was built, and the scenery was both beautiful and rugged. There
were few farms.

On a rising stretch of road, the engine began to miss, and something
rattled painfully in the "internal arrangements" of the car. Tom looked
serious, stopped several times, and just coaxed her slowly to the summit
of the hill.

"Now don't tell us that we're going to have a breakdown!" cried Helen.

"Do you think those are thunder-heads hanging over the mountain?" asked
Ruth, seriously.

"Sure of it!" responded Helen.

"You are a regular 'calamity howler'!" exclaimed Tom. "By Jove! this old
mill _is_ going to kick up rusty."

"There's a house!" cried Ruth, gaily, standing up in the back to look
ahead. "Now we're all right if the machine has to be repaired, or a
storm bursts upon us."

But when the car limped up and stopped in the sandy road before the
sagging gate, the trio saw that their refuge was a windowless and
abandoned structure that looked as gaunt and ghostly as a
lightning-riven tree!

CHAPTER VII

FELLOW TRAVELERS

"Well! this is a pretty pickle!" groaned Tom, at last as much disturbed
as Helen had been. "It's no use, girls. We'll have to stop here till the
storm is over. It is coming."

"Well, that will be fun!" cried Ruth, cheerfully. "Of course we ought to
be storm-bound in a deserted house. That is according to all r