"Sh-h," said Grace, a finger to her lips. "He has stopped playing. He may hear us."
"All right," said Betty. "Let's get back to the trail where we can talk this thing over."
They did not stop at the trail, however, for some memory of the danger lurking in the woods drove them out on to the main road where they might talk in peace.
"Now then," said Betty eagerly, as they reached the road, crowding their horses close together and reining them in to a walk. "What do you make of this, girls? If this man is really one of those artists that played at that big concert, then he is famous and there is something more than strange in his hiding up here in the woods."
"Goodness, we don't need anybody to tell us that," said Grace. "He certainly must be in hiding for something he's done—unless he has been disappointed in love," she added sentimentally.
"I don't believe he was ever in love with anything but his violin," said Mollie.
"Can't somebody think of the name of the violinist that played at the benefit?" asked Betty, who had been trying for some minutes past to accomplish that very thing.
"It was something like Croup, I think," said Mollie, wrinkling her forehead.
"Goodness, how romantic," said Grace, with a laugh.
"I tell you how we can find out the name," said Amy suddenly.