Dave Porter At Bear Camp: or, The Wild Man of Mirror Lake

CHAPTER XXV
TWO DEER

"He was here, and you chased him away!" exclaimed Dave. "Have you any idea where he went to?"

"I think he took the trail back of the house; the one leading to Carpen Falls," answered Lester Lawrence. "I slipped on my most outlandish costume, and I must have scared him out of his wits, for he ran like a deer," he added, with a smile.

"In that case there is no use in our looking for him around here," announced Roger.

"I think I'll give the hunt up," said Phil. "Finding my uncle has changed matters completely. What I want to do is to send word to my father that my uncle is found. Then, as soon as he is able to travel, I'll leave you fellows and take him home."

"I think I'll be able to walk on the foot in a day or two," answered Lester Lawrence. "You see I can already hobble around. But that sprain was a pretty bad one, I can assure you!"

After this the situation was discussed for some time – in fact, until well after the noon hour. Then one of the boys suggested that they have dinner, and while Phil and his uncle continued to talk over their personal affairs, Dave and his chums set about getting ready the meal.

While all in the cabin partook of the midday meal, the boys told the hermit about their life in camp, and also of their adventures at Oak Hall and in other places. Lester Lawrence listened interestedly to the recital, and asked innumerable questions concerning their doings, and also questioned Phil regarding conditions at home.

"I'll leave the matter of that land deal entirely to your father," he said to his nephew. "He always had a better head for business than I've got. He'll know the right thing to do."

After the meal it was decided that Phil should remain at the cabin with his uncle, while the other boys returned to Bear Camp. Phil wrote out a message which he asked Dave and the others to send to Carpen Falls, from which point it might be transmitted by telephone and telegraph to his parents, announcing the finding of the long-lost uncle.

"Now that I have found Uncle Lester, I don't want to leave him," said Phil to Dave and Roger, as he drew his two particular chums to one side, out of hearing of the others. "Uncle Lester may be all right in his mind – in fact I hope he is – but at the same time, he has acted so queerly that I don't want to give him any chance to get away from me. Besides, I think he ought to rest so that his lame ankle can get well. I'll do all the work around here and stay until some of you get back, which I suppose will be in a day or two."

"All right, Phil. You stay with him, by all means," answered our hero. "We'll attend to this message, and we'll wait to see if any message comes back from your father."

The boys to return to Bear Camp had thought they must go by the way they had come, but Lester Lawrence told them to follow the mountain torrent for a distance of a quarter of a mile, and then they would reach a broad and well-defined trail leading to the brook which flowed into Mirror Lake.

"It's a much shorter route," he said, "and you will find the traveling much easier."

It was about half an hour later when Dave and the others bid Phil and Mr. Lawrence good-bye, and set out on the return to Bear Camp. Our hero still had possession of the rifle, and Roger carried the shotgun. Under the heavy trees it was both dark and cold, and the boys hurried along as rapidly as possible, not only to make time, but also to keep warm. Dave and Roger were in advance, discussing the finding of Phil's uncle.

"I'm mighty glad on Phil's account that his uncle has been found," remarked Dave. "The selling of that land at a handsome profit will be a big lift for the Lawrence family."

"Yes. And how it will please Phil's parents to have Mr. Lawrence's brother back!" responded Roger. "As it was, they did not know whether he was dead or alive. It's a terrible thing to – "

Roger broke off short, for at that instant Dave clapped his hand over his chum's mouth and drew him quickly behind a nearby tree. They were well in advance of their friends, and now our hero motioned the others to keep back.

"What is it? What is the trouble?" called out Ben.

"It's a deer, keep quiet!" answered Dave, in a low tone.

"A deer! Where?" questioned Roger.

"Over yonder, by the white birch."

The senator's son looked in the direction indicated, but for the moment saw nothing out of the ordinary. Then, however, a head appeared from between some bushes back of the white birch, and presently a beautiful deer stalked into view.

"I see him," whispered Roger, excitedly. "There is your chance, Dave, plug him!"

Our hero already had the rifle raised. He was about to pull the trigger when he paused, for he had seen the bushes back of the deer move.

"What's up? Why don't you shoot?" whispered Roger, his voice betraying excitement.

"I think there's another deer there, Roger," whispered our hero, in return. "Yes, there he is! Now then, you will have a shot yourself. Take the one on the left and I'll take the one on the right."

"All right," returned the senator's son, and raised the double-barreled shotgun. "Are you ready?"

"Yes. When I say 'three,' fire," answered Dave, quickly. "One, two, three!"

Crack! Bang! The two pieces rang out in quick succession, and as the reports echoed through the forest both deer gave a wild leap into the air. Then the animal at which Dave had shot plunged forward on its knees and fell into some brushwood, kicking wildly. The other deer whirled around and started to run for cover.

"Give it the other barrel, Roger!" yelled Dave, as he ran forward.

There was no need of this advice, for while Dave was yet speaking the second barrel of the shotgun was discharged at the flying deer. Roger's aim this time proved to be better than before, and plunging forward, the deer ran full tilt into a tree and then pitched over on its side, where it soon breathed its last.

Long before Dave reached his quarry he was ready for a second shot should the game require it. But when he reached the deer's side he found that the end of the animal was close at hand. Then he rejoined his chum, who was watching the other deer.

"Is he dead, Roger?" he asked, quickly.

"I think he is, Dave," was the answer, and Roger's tone showed his exaltation. "My! but this is luck; isn't it?"

"I should say yes! Two deer at a clip!"

"How about the one you hit; is it dead?"

"Just about," was Dave's reply, and then he hurried over to the game, to note that it was breathing its last.

"How did you make out?" The cry came from Ben, as he came running forward, followed by Luke and Shadow.

"Did you hit anything?" queried the former story-teller of Oak Hall.

"Did they hit anything!" yelled Luke. "Say, this is great, they got two of them!"

"This is what I call wholesale hunting!" announced Ben.

"You fellows certainly opened the hunting season in great shape," was Shadow's comment. "A wildcat and two deer all in one day!"

The boys dragged the two deer together, and it must be confessed that Dave and Roger looked at their quarry with great pride.

"How are we going to get those down to the bungalows?" asked the senator's son.

"I think the best thing to do will be to tie their feet together and slip each of them on a long pole," returned Dave.

A small hatchet had been brought along for possible use in cutting firewood, and with this the boys cut down two long and slender saplings. Then they tied up the deer as our hero had mentioned, and a sapling was thrust between the front and hind legs of each of the game, allowing the body to hang below.

"Here, Ben, you can carry the rifle," announced Dave. "I'll take one end of one load."

"And I'll help carry with you," announced Luke.

"I'll carry my share of the load," offered Roger, and he picked up one end of the second sapling, while Shadow took the other. Thus carrying the loads between them, and with Ben going ahead with the rifle, they continued on the return to Bear Camp.

Progress with such heavy loads was necessarily slow, and several times the boys stopped to rest. It was well toward nightfall when they reached the stream flowing into Mirror Lake.

Having gained the watercourse, it was an easy matter for them to continue onward until they reached the vicinity of the two bungalows. As soon as they came in sight of the camp, several set up a shout, which quickly brought Laura and Belle into view.

"Home again, and with lots of good news!" cried Dave, swinging his cap.

"Oh, look, they have two deer!" exclaimed the girl from the West. "Isn't that grand?"

"It certainly is," returned Laura; but her voice had little of enthusiasm in it.

"Where is Uncle Dunston?" cried Dave. "I want him to look at what Roger and I shot."

"Your uncle has gone home," answered Belle. At the same time Laura turned away.

"Gone home!" repeated Dave, in bewilderment. "Why, what made him do that? I didn't know he was going until next week."

"He went with Mr. Wadsworth," continued Belle. "They had some very important business to attend to."

"What was it? Laura, do you know?"

"Yes, I know, Dave," answered the girl, and now her voice had a curious, uncertain ring in it. "Oh, Dave, it's the most awful thing I ever heard of! I don't see how I am ever going to tell you!" she burst out; and then, of a sudden, began to cry and ran into the bungalow.

CHAPTER XXVI
STARTLING NEWS

Dave was so surprised that for the moment he knew not what to say or do. His eyes followed Laura as she disappeared within the bungalow, and then he turned in bewilderment to Belle.

"Laura takes it awfully hard, but I don't think she ought to – at least not yet," said the girl from Star Ranch. "There may not be a word of truth in the story. Anyway, I'm not going to believe it until they prove it."

"But what are you talking about, Belle?" questioned Dave, his face still showing his perplexity. "What is it all about? Has anything happened at home? It isn't my father; is it?"

"No, there is nothing wrong at your home, Dave – at least not in the way you think." Belle paused for a moment as if not knowing how to go on. "You remember what Link Merwell said; don't you?"

"About me?"

"Yes. Of course I don't believe it at all. But this young fellow, Ward Porton, sent word to your father, and that has upset him a great deal, so that he sent word to your Uncle Dunston and Laura, as well as to Mr. Wadsworth. The word came in this morning, a couple of hours after you had left; and after talking the matter over, your uncle and Mr. Wadsworth made up their minds to return to Crumville without delay."

"And what did this Ward Porton have to say?" questioned our hero, and it was with an effort that he steadied his voice.

"I can't give you all the particulars, because Laura did not show me the letter. Poor dear! it just broke her up completely, and I've had an awful time with her – and I've had an awful time with Jessie, too."

"But you must know something," went on Dave, while the others gathered around, their faces showing their intense curiosity.

"Well, as near as I can make out, this Ward Porton has been investigating matters connected with himself and with you, and he claims that he is the real Dave Porter and that you are somebody else."

"Oh, say, that's nonsense!" burst out Phil, quickly. "Why, we proved Dave's identity beyond question, when we came back from our trip to the South Seas."

"Sure we did!" added Roger. "Dave's uncle went into all of the details with the Crumville poorhouse authorities, and also got the particulars of how that fellow named Sandy Margot, the good-for-nothing husband of that crazy nurse, Polly Margot, abducted Dave and took him on a railroad train, and then got scared and put him off at Crumville."

"I am sure I hope what you say is true, Roger," responded the girl from the West. "What this Porton bases his claim on I don't know. As I said before, I didn't read the letter Dave's uncle turned over to Laura."

"I must go in and find out about this," said Dave, in a curiously unnatural voice. His mind was in a whirl, and for the time being his good luck at hunting, and the finding of Phil's uncle and the clearing up of the mystery of the wild man, were completely forgotten.

He found Laura in one of the bedrooms of the bungalow, sitting in a chair by the window, with her hands clasped tightly together and her face firm-set and drawn. As she looked up at him, two fresh tears stood out on her cheeks.

"They tell me that Uncle Dunston got a letter about me," said the youth, doing his best to steady his voice. "Will you let me see it?"

"It's on the table," returned the girl, motioning with her hand. And then she added impetuously: "Oh, Dave, I can't believe it's true, I simply can't! Why, it's the most dreadful thing that ever came up! I am sure there must be some mistake!"

"I – I can't understand it," Dave stammered in return, and then picked up the communication which had been sent by special messenger from Carpen Falls. The letter ran as follows:

"Dear Dunston:

"A most astonishing thing has come up, and I wish you would return to Crumville at once; and it might be well to bring Mr. Wadsworth with you.

"I cannot go into all the details because I am completely upset. Briefly stated the matter is this: A young man named Ward Porton – the same fellow who was in Crumville some time ago with Link Merwell – has written to me, stating that he has every reason to believe that he is the real Dave Porter, and that our Dave is somebody else. His story is that he was left in a poorhouse at Lumberville, Maine, by an old woman who obtained him from Sandy Margot, who told her the child had been under the care of Polly, his wife. The claim is also made that Sandy Margot had in reality stolen two children, little boys, at about the same time, and the theory is advanced that the other boy was the one dropped from the train at Crumville. The young man states that he has gone into the matter very carefully, and has a number of proofs which he will submit whenever called on to do so. He adds that he feels sorry for Dave, but hopes that I will find in him as good a son, and also hopes that Laura will like him as well as a brother.

"I am so upset that I hardly know what to think or what to do. If this young man's story is true, then all of us have made a sad mistake, and what Dave is to do in the matter I don't know. Come on as soon as possible and help me to get to the bottom of this terrible mix-up.

"Your affectionate brother,

David Breslow Porter."

Dave read this letter with care, and then allowed the communication to slip from his fingers. If his mind had been in a whirl before, it was more so now, and for the moment he could hardly think straight. If he was not Dave Porter, who was he? A thousand ideas ran riot through his brain.

"Oh, Dave! it can't be true; can it?" came half-pleadingly from Laura.

"I don't know," he answered dumbly. "I don't know."

"But, Dave, I thought that you and Uncle Dunston proved your identity completely, even before you found father and met me."

"I always supposed we did prove it, Laura," he answered. "We went into the matter very carefully at that time. Nothing was ever said about Sandy Margot stealing two little boys. I always supposed he had taken only one child."

"And to think this other young man is a perfect stranger," went on Laura, dolefully. "There is no telling what sort of a person he is."

"He's no stranger to me. I helped to pull him out of the water when the steam yacht was on fire," answered Dave. "I guess he's all right as far as that goes, although I don't think much of his keeping company with Link Merwell."

"Do you suppose it can be a plot hatched up by Link Merwell?"

"I don't know what to think. This news stuns me. I've got to consider it. Maybe I had better go back to Crumville, too."

"No, Uncle Dunston said you had better stay here – at least for the present. He said if they wanted you they could send you word."

"Oh, all right," and now Dave's voice showed a faint trace of bitterness. "Maybe they don't want me around, if they have really settled it that I am not the real Dave Porter."

"Oh, Dave! Don't want you around!" Laura sprang to her feet, and coming over to him, caught both his hands in her own. "Don't talk that way. Even if they should prove that you are not my brother, I shall always think just as much of you."

"Thank you for saying that, Laura," he returned, with much emotion. "It's nice to know that there is somebody who won't go back on me."

"I don't believe anybody will go back on you, Dave – you have always been so good. Oh, I think this is dreadful – just dreadful!" and Laura showed signs of bursting into tears once more.

"Where are Jessie and Mrs. Wadsworth, and Mrs. Basswood?"

"I think Jessie went over to the other bungalow with her mother. She was as much upset as I was."

"Does she think the story is true?"

"She hopes it isn't. But of course she can't do anything – and I can't do anything either."

"Well, I don't see what I can do." Dave took a turn up and down the room, and then sank on a chair. "This just knocks me endwise. I can't even seem to think straight," he added, helplessly.

"You poor boy!" Laura came over and brushed back the hair from his forehead. "You don't know how this hurts, Dave. Oh, it can't be true!"

"I wonder how long I've got to wait before I hear from Crumville?"

"I am sure I don't know. I think, though, we'll get word just as soon as they know anything definite."

At that moment came a timid knock on the door, and Laura opened it to admit Jessie. The appearance of the girl showed that she was much upset. Her face was tear-stained and her hair awry.

"Oh, Dave!" was all she said. And then coming straight toward him, she threw her head on his shoulder and burst into a fit of weeping.

"There, there, Jessie! Don't you cry so," he said, soothingly. "I am sure it will be all right."

"But Da-Dave, hasn't Laura to-told you?"

"Yes, she has told me."

"And did you read that letter?"

"Yes."

"But it can't be true, Dave! Oh, tell me it can't be true!" went on the girl, pleadingly.

"I can't tell you whether it is true or not, Jessie, for I don't know," answered the boy, as bravely as he could. "I suppose they'll investigate the matter at Crumville and at that place in Maine, and let me know." He looked at her curiously. "What if they prove I am not the real Dave Porter, Jessie – will you care very much?"

"Care? Of course I'll care, Dave! But don't misunderstand me," she added, quickly. "Even if they prove you are not the real Dave Porter, it won't make any difference to me. I shall think just as much of you, no matter who you are."

"Do you really mean that?" and he clutched her tightly.

"I certainly do! What difference will it really make? You will be yourself, no matter what your name is."

"I know, Jessie, I'll be myself; but who will I be? Perhaps I'll be a 'poorhouse nobody' after all," and he smiled bitterly.

"Never!" returned the girl, emphatically. "You'll never be a nobody, Dave. You are too true, both to yourself and to those around you. You'll make a name for yourself in this world even if they take your present name away from you;" and as she spoke the girl's words rang with earnestness.

A great and peculiar joy seemed to creep over Dave, and despite the blackness of the situation, his heart for the moment felt light. He gazed with emotion at both Laura and Jessie.

"If that's the way you feel about it – and Laura says she feels the same – I'm not going to worry just yet," he answered.

CHAPTER XXVII
WHAT HAPPENED IN THE NIGHT

That evening the sole topic of conversation at Bear Camp was the news concerning Dave. The other lads could not bear to question Laura or Jessie on the subject, knowing how badly both of them must feel; but they asked Belle to tell all she knew, and also quizzed Mrs. Wadsworth and Mrs. Basswood.

"It's the worst state of affairs I have ever known," was the way the jewelry manufacturer's wife expressed herself, in private to Roger and Phil. "We, as you know, think the world and all of Dave, and we don't want him to drop back and become a nobody, even in name. He is a splendid boy, and no matter what happens we shall always think as much of him as we ever did."

"I think all his friends will stick to him," answered Roger. "At the same time, this will cut him to the heart; and what he'll do if they really prove he isn't Dave Porter, I don't know."

"Maybe the Porters will continue to keep him in the family as an adopted son," suggested Phil. "That is, if this report really proves to be true, which I don't believe will happen."

"I have always thought a great deal of Dave, ever since he saved Jessie from that gasoline explosion," returned Mrs. Wadsworth. "Should they find out that he is not a Porter, I think I would be strongly in favor of my husband adopting him."

"Say, that wouldn't be half bad!" burst out Phil, "and the suggestion does you credit, Mrs. Wadsworth. Personally, I think Dave is the finest fellow in the world."

"I am sure we all think that," added Roger. "Since he went to Oak Hall he has made a host of real friends, and I don't think one of them will desert him."

While this conversation was going on, the other boys were talking to our hero, doing their best to cheer him up and to convince him that, no matter what happened, they would stick to him.

"You take it from me," declared Luke, "this is some scheme gotten up by Link Merwell and this other fellow!"

"Certainly it's a scheme!" added Shadow. "It puts me in mind of a story I once heard about a fellow down South who stole three watermelons, and – But, oh, pshaw! what's the use of trying to tell a story now? I'm going to cut them out until we get this thing settled," he added, in disgust.

"Don't you worry, Dave. I am sure it will come out all right in the end," was what Ben said, speaking with an apparent conviction that he did not by any means feel.

"You're all kind, fellows, and I appreciate it very much," answered Dave. "But this is a blow to me. If you'll excuse me, I'd like to take a little walk by myself and think it over." And thus speaking, the youth withdrew from the crowd, and walked slowly to the lake and along a footpath bordering the shore.

"It's the rankest shame I ever knew!" declared Ben, when the others were left to themselves. "If I had that Ward Porton here I'd wring his neck."

"I guess we'd all like to do that," responded Shadow. "Nevertheless, if he is the real Dave Porter you can't blame him for trying to prove it."

"There is only one thing about it that troubles me," said Luke. "Don't you remember that all of those who saw this Ward Porton agreed that he looked very much like Mr. Dunston Porter?"

"Yes, but Dave looks like Dunston Porter, too," came quickly from Ben.

"It's queer that he resembles his uncle more than he does his father," was Shadow's comment. "Maybe this Ward Porton resembles Mr. David Porter."

"Well, it's fierce; that's all I've got to say," declared Ben. "And what Dave is going to do if they prove he isn't the real Dave Porter is something I don't like to think about. In those days when we first went to Oak Hall, you'll remember how bitter he felt when some of his enemies referred to him as that 'poorhouse nobody,' and how eager he was to clear up the mystery of his identity, even though it cost him a trip to the South Sea Islands."

Dave walked on and on along the lake shore, paying little attention to where he was going. His mind was in a state bordering on bewilderment. In a faint, uncertain way he had anticipated some such calamity, but now that the blow had fallen, the matter looked almost hopeless to him. Had he followed his own inclinations, he would have made preparations to return to Crumville at once.

"But evidently they don't want me there," he told himself, bitterly. "They want to solve this mystery without my interference. And if they do make up their minds that I am not the real Dave Porter, I wonder how they will treat me? Of course, they may be very kind to me – the same as Laura and Jessie and the others up here. But kindness of that sort isn't everything. I don't want any one to support me if I haven't some claim on him." And then Dave shut his teeth hard, clenched his hands, and walked on faster than ever.

Finally tired out because he had been on his feet since early morning, Dave sat down on a flat rock to rest. As he did this, he heard the put-put of a motor, and presently around a bend of the shore showed the headlight of Mr. Appleby's motor-boat.

"I wonder if they are simply going down to the end of the lake, or whether they are going to stop at our place," said Dave, to himself. "I'd rather they wouldn't stop at Bear Camp to-night, when everything is so upset."

As the motor-boat swung around, the headlight flashed full upon our hero and there followed an exclamation from the manager of the moving-picture company, who was at the wheel of the craft, with two men beside him.

"Hello there, Porter! What are you doing – fishing?"

"No, I just came down here to sit on the rock and do a little thinking," answered Dave.

"We are making a little trip around the lake," went on Mr. Appleby. "I was going to stop at your dock and deliver a letter that came in our mail by mistake. It's a letter for you, so I might as well give it to you now."

"A letter for me, eh?" answered Dave.

"Yes, here you are!" went on Mr. Appleby, as the motor-boat came to a standstill close by. "I'll put it in the newspaper and you can have that too, as we have read it;" and suiting the action to the word, the man placed the letter in the folds of the paper and tossed the latter ashore.

"Will you stop?" questioned Dave.

"Not to-night. We are going to make a call on the other side of the lake. I just thought I'd give you the letter, that's all," and then, with a pleasant good-bye, the manager steered his motor-boat out into Mirror Lake again.

It was too dark to read the letter without a light, and as Dave did not happen to have even a match, he walked back to the bungalows. The lanterns were hung out on the porches as was the custom, and under the light of one of these he looked at the communication he had received.

"It's from Crumville!" he exclaimed to himself, eagerly, as he looked at the postmark. But then, as he recognized the handwriting, his face fell. "It's only from Nat Poole."

The communication from the money-lender's son was a long one, containing much news which it will be unnecessary to give here. There was, however, one paragraph in the letter which Dave read with great interest.

"I am sorry if you put yourselves out trying to catch that wild man thinking he was my Uncle Wilbur. As I told you, my uncle got away from the sanitarium and they had quite a job to locate him. They found him up in the vicinity of Oak Hall, at one of the houses where he had once stayed. They got him to return to the sanitarium without any trouble, and the doctors think that he is now doing finely."

"Hello, Dave! what are you reading?" remarked Roger, coming up.

"Here's a letter from Nat Poole," and our hero told how he had received it. "You can read it for yourself. They have found Wilbur Poole, and have put him back in the sanitarium."

"Is that so? Well, I am glad they caught him." And then Roger read the letter, and went off to spread the news among the other boys.

The next day was a long one for Dave. While Ben and Luke went to Carpen Falls with a letter directed to Phil's father, he spent part of the time dressing the two deer. But his heart was not in the work, and his friends noted his absent-mindedness. Several times he looked down in the direction of the trail leading to Carpen Falls, and they knew he was hoping for some messenger to appear, summoning him to come to Crumville.

"It makes me sick to see Dave so downcast," whispered Ben to Roger, that evening. "I wish we could cheer him up."

"I don't see how we are going to do it. We can't lift that burden from his mind. We have simply got to wait until some word comes from the Porters at Crumville. I don't believe they'll keep Dave waiting any longer than necessary."

"But think of the terrible suspense!"

"I know it. It's too bad!"

The afternoon had been cloudy, and late in the evening it began to rain. Then the wind came up, moaning through the forest in melancholy fashion and sending thousands of whitecaps across the surface of the lake.

"It isn't Mirror Lake to-night," said Belle, with a little shiver. "It's more like Foamy Lake."

"I don't think I'd want to go out in a canoe to-night," returned Phil, who was beside her.

"I think we are going to have quite a storm," said Laura. "Just listen to that wind!"

With fitful gusts tearing around the bungalows, no one felt much like going to bed. About ten o'clock came a hard downpour, lasting for half an hour. Then the wind died away, and gradually the rain ceased.

"I guess the worst of it is over," announced Mrs. Wadsworth, presently. "I think we may as well retire." And shortly after that all of the inmates of both bungalows were in bed.

For a long while Dave could not sleep. As had been the case the night previous, he tumbled and tossed on his couch, thinking of the trouble that had come to him. But at last tired nature claimed its own, and he sank into a profound slumber, from which he did not awaken until some time after sunrise.

"Hello! I must have overslept," he declared, as he leaped up, to see that his chums were almost dressed.

Dave was just finishing his toilet, and the other boys and some of the girls had started to walk down to the dock to look at the lake, when a cry came from the kitchen of the bungalow.

"Mrs. Wadsworth! Mr. Porter!" came a call from the hired girl. "Please come here!"

"What is it, Mary?" asked Mrs. Wadsworth, as she appeared from her own room.

"Sure, ma'am, a whole lot of things are missing!" declared the girl.

"Missing! What is missing?"

"Sure, ma'am, almost everything in the kitchen is missing, ma'am!" and the girl pointed around in a helpless sort of fashion. "All the knives and forks and spoons are gone! And so are some of the pots and pans and kettles!"