“You disappeared pretty quickly!”
“Rather,” laughed Mary Louise, and she told the story of being hit over the head by a rock and of catching the young man and having him arrested that very morning.
“That was clever!” approved her father. “Who was he, Margaret?”
“A neighborhood bum that Mrs. Ferguson employs to watch the place and keep the people away,” replied the girl.
“But I’m afraid I interrupted you, Margaret,” apologized Mary Louise. “Please go on with your story.”
“There isn’t much left to tell. I was too far away from home to run away, without any money, and I hadn’t a single friend I could go to. All the store people thought I was a thief, so I knew there was no use asking their help. I just kept on, from day to day, not knowing how it would ever end and never expecting to see my grandparents or my Riverside friends again. Oh, you can’t imagine how unhappy I have been!”
She stopped talking, for emotion had overcome her; tears were rolling down her cheeks. Mary Louise laid her hand over Margaret’s reassuringly.
“It’s all right now, isn’t it, Daddy?” she said. “We’ll take you home to your grandparents.”
“But I can’t go back to them!” protested the other girl. “How can I tell them what has happened? They’d be disgraced for life.”
“You can tell them you have been working for a queer woman who wouldn’t allow you to write home,” said Mr. Gay. “A woman whose mind was affected, for that is the truth. There is no doubt that Mrs. Ferguson is the victim of a diseased mind.”