"Just Miss Celia."
If Miss Celia knew, it seemed worthy of more respect. "How did you find it out?" asked Jack.
"I can't tell you. It is a mystery; but, boys, I want to keep an eye on that man and see what he does," Belle said impressively.
"How about taking his picture?" suggested Maurice.
"Just the thing!" Belle clapped her hands. "Let's go look for him now."
Anything that promised some fun was hailed with delight. It had been a little dull in Rosalind's absence. When she was with them nobody was conscious of her leadership, but now she was away they were at a loss.
They waylaid old Mr. Biddle, driving in from the country with a load of apples, and demanded a ride which he good-naturedly allowed them, and they drove down the hill in state. When they came within sight of the post-office, Belle clutched Maurice's arm. "There he is," she whispered. "Let's get out and wait for him. You have your camera ready."
The obliging Mr. Biddle stopped his horse and let his passenger out. As for the stranger, if he had known what was wanted of him, he couldn't have been more accommodating. He came slowly down the steps of the post-office, and stood within a few yards of the doorway, where three giggling young persons had taken shelter. Maurice had time for half a dozen pictures if he wanted them.
"He isn't a detective," whispered Jack, "I'll bet a dime he is a minister."
"I said he looked like a minister," Belle retorted.