funny she didn't come to clean herself, I
mean put on her afternoon things; but I guessed she was too tired,
and, anyway, Jane never gets mussed up as I do," answered Molly
Martin, tears rising in her eyes.

The Master rose from his unfinished meal.

"Then we've left her behind and the poor child will be terrified. I'll
have one of the work horses put to the pony cart at once, and go back
for her. I'd like one of you lads to go with me. I might need
somebody."

Jim rose and Herbert, and, oddly enough, Mr. Winters nodded to
Herbert; adding to Dorothy:

"Have a bottle of milk and some food, besides a heavy wrap sent out to
the cart. She will have missed her supper."

"But you and Herbert are missing yours, too. I shall send something
extra for you two and mind you eat it. I--I'm sure you'll find Jane
all right only maybe frightened," said Dorothy, doing her utmost to
banish anxiety from her friends, though she felt troubled enough in
her own mind. If it had been any other girl but Jane, the steady!

However, there was the long evening to get through, even though the
rescuing party made their best speed. Many miles stretched between the
old mansion and this with the distance to cover twice; and all the
time there lay on the hostess's heart the burden of her own personal
grief. But she mustn't think of that. She must not. She was a Calvert,
no matter what Aunt Betty said. A gentlewoman.

Only yesterday Helena had explained that a gentlewoman, "in society,"
had no thought save for the comfort of others. Well, she was in
"society" now, and--She almost wished she wasn't! She'd rather have
been a poor little girl, unknowing her own name, who'd never dreamed
of being an heiress and who'd have been free to run away and hide and
cry her eyes out--if she wished!

So she put her best efforts to her task of entertaining and a jolly
evening followed; though now and then one or another would pause in
the midst of a game and ask:

"Ought we to be carrying on like this, while we don't know what's
happened to Janie?" Then the spirit of fun would sway them all again;
for, as Alfaretta practically put it: "Whether we laugh or cry don't
make any difference to her. Time enough to solemn down when we find
out she's hurt."

They were rather noisily singing the old round of "Three Blind Mice,"
with each particular "mouse" putting itself into its neighbors' way,
so that the refrain never would come out in the proper order, when it