"Our friend Anderson," finished Tavia, for Dorothy seemed too frightened to utter the name.
"Did he though?" and Nat gave Ned a significant look. "All the more reason why I should like to make his acquaintance. You girls will have to hide here until we get rid of him, and we have no time to spare if we want to work by daylight. Come along, Ned. Girls, don't be the least alarmed. We will be down the road after you in a jiffy. It won't take two seconds to put in this clutch."
"But I feel sure it is that dreadful man," wailed Dorothy. "Oh, if some strong person would only come!"
"Now, you just sit down there," said Ned, tenderly, "and when you hear us whistle you will know it is all right. It may be only a poor farmer resting on his way home."
But the girls were too certain that no farmer would have enjoyed climbing from one seat to the other as they had seen this man doing, and they had strange misgivings about him—of course Anderson was in jail, but—
"Now, don't be a bit worried," added Nat. "We will be spinning down the road directly," and at this the boys left the girls again, and started down the road to interview the strange man in their automobile.
"Oh, I do feel as if I shall die!" cried Dorothy. "Let us pray, Tavia, that nothing will happen to the boys!"
"You pray, but I have to watch," answered Tavia, not realizing how scriptural her words were, "for if they should need help I have got to go to that house after it."
Then, on the damp grass, poor Dorothy buried her head in prayer, such prayer as can come only from a heart in distress.
Tavia, as she had said, stood straight out in the middle of the road, watching through the dim light.