"He told me not to tell," said Gwen, shutting her lips firmly together.
"What? You know where he is, and will not tell me, his own mother? Why, child, I am sick with worrying. Tell me, this moment!"
Gwen made no reply.
She loved Max, but she had never liked his mother, and that she should command her to tell made the little girl more stubborn than she had ever been before.
"I wouldn't tell now even if Mrs. Deland and all those other women stuck pins into me," thought Gwen.
It was in vain that they questioned her. Pleading, threatening, coaxing were equally unavailing, and when Mrs. Harcourt, seeing the group, came out upon the piazza, Gwen flew to her, saying that everyone was teasing her.
"It is an outrage!" cried Mrs. Harcourt, her voice shrill with anger.
"I wonder what you can be thinking of? A half dozen grown people tormenting one small girl."
"My dear Mrs. Harcourt, you don't at all understand," said a tall, haughty-looking woman. "Your little daughter knows where the lost boy, Max Deland, is, and, although his mother is nearly wild with anxiety, she will not tell, that we may know where to find him."
Mrs. Harcourt hesitated. Then she looked at Gwen's flushed cheeks and downcast eyes.