E-text prepared by Suzanne Shell, Emmy,
and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team
(http://www.pgdp.net)

"He's Here!" Cried Barbara.
Frontispiece.

The Automobile Girls
at Chicago

OR

Winning Out Against Heavy Odds

By

LAURA DENT CRANE

Author of The Automobile Girls at Newport, The Automobile Girls
in the Berkshires, The Automobile Girls
Along the Hudson, etc.

Illustrated
P H I L A D E L P H I A
HENRY ALTEMUS COMPANY

Copyright, 1912, by
Howard E. Altemus
Printed in the
United States of America

CONTENTS

The Automobile Girls at Chicago

CHAPTER I

THE MAN IN SECTION THIRTEEN

BARBARA THURSTON awakened with a violent start.

"Wha—a-at is it?" she muttered, then opened her eyes wide. In the darkness of the Pullman berth she could see nothing at all save a faint perpendicular line of light at the edges of the curtains that enclosed the section.

"I—I wonder what made me wake up so suddenly?" Barbara put out a groping hand. The hand came in contact with Mollie Thurston's face. Mollie brushed it away, muttering irritably in her sleep. Then all at once Barbara discovered what had awakened her. Close at hand she heard the voices of two men. They were conversing in low, cautious tones.

"I tell you I'll crush him! I'll crush them both. I'll make beggars of them!" declared one of the men in a slightly heightened tone.

The train had stopped, as Barbara realized at that moment. Otherwise she might not have been able to hear the words so plainly. The girl shuddered at the tone of the speaker's voice more than at the words themselves. She drew the curtains aside a little and peered out. It was then that she discovered by the light reflected from the adjoining section that the berths next to her had not been made up. Two men were sitting in the double seat within a few inches of where her head had lain. She was unable to see the men, nor did Barbara recognize either of the voices. Their conversation could be of no possible interest to her, she told herself. Still for some reason that she did not stop to analyze, the girl lay back with half-closed eyes, listening. She listened not because she wanted to hear, but for the reason that she could not well help overhearing the conversation in the adjoining section.

At Barbara's side Mollie Thurston lay sleeping peacefully. As for Barbara, she was now wholly awake, all thought of sleep having left her.

"You mean you will crush them financially?" suggested the second speaker.

"Body and soul!"

"Do you mean to say that you would crush a human being—perhaps drive him to do desperate things—merely to gratify your love of money and power? Is that what you mean, Nat?"

"That is partly my meaning. Yes, I want power. Already they call me the 'Young Napoleon of Finance,' but that is not enough. Those men must be driven to the wall, for in crushing them I shall be increasing my own power as well as taking theirs from them. I'd crush them just the same if I knew it to be my last conscious act on earth."

Barbara Thurston gazed into the darkness wide-eyed. She knew she was listening to the resolve of a desperate man, though she had not the slightest idea what might be his plans for accomplishing his purpose.

"Why do you hate them so?" questioned the second voice. "What have they ever done to you?"

The first speaker paused a few seconds before replying, then in a voice tense with suppressed emotion he answered slowly:

"Hate them? That isn't exactly the word, but it will answer. I hate —— —— because he turned me out when I was making my start. Turned me out into the street, Jim. Do you understand? Turned me out without a dollar in my pocket when I was trying to make something of myself. I hate the other man because he is working with him. They are pulling together and they must go down together. Let them down me if they can. I'll make beggars of both of them!"

"Oh!" exclaimed Barbara Thurston in a tone that plainly must have reached the two men.

The terrible threat had struck her almost with the effect of a blow. A name had been mentioned that stirred her to instant alertness, a name almost as familiar to the girl as her own.

"What was that?" demanded the voice that had uttered the terrible threats.

"Someone dreaming."

"Let them dream. As for me, I never sleep these days. I leave that to others. Jim, you watch me. I'll be a king of finance yet. I'll be the Napoleon in reality before I have done. And what is more, those men will never know where their opposition comes from until after the blow has fallen. I'll see to it that they know then, however. Watch me, but keep silent. Not a word, not a breath of what I have told you. I've said too much, but I had to talk to some one I could trust. Now I'm all right again."

"Never fear, Nat."

"And I'll give you a tip, boy. Buy wheat."

Bab could not catch all of the sentence. She caught the word "wheat," but a word ahead of that she missed.

"Thank you, I never gamble," replied the second man. "I'm sure to lose if I do, so I have always steered clear of speculation. But I'm sorry for the Old Man if you are after him. I'm sorry for anyone that you visit your displeasure upon. I should hate to have you get after my scalp."

"What's—who's talking in this berth?" demanded Mollie, sitting up suddenly.

"Sh-h-h!" warned Barbara, laying a restraining hand on her sister's lips. "It isn't in this berth. It's in the next one. Go to sleep."

"Is—is Grace asleep?"

"Yes. Be quiet."

Grace Carter, the girls' companion, occupied the berth above them. As no sound had been heard from that quarter it was reasonable to suppose that Grace had not been awakened by the conversation of the two men.

Barbara was trembling violently. She was profoundly affected by what she had overheard. Yet while she had heard a name mentioned and a threat made against the owner of that name, she was in the dark as to the meaning of the threat—she did not understand what it was that this man proposed to do. Her ears were now strained to catch every word uttered on the other side of the partition.

"I shall watch the market with interest, Nat," the second speaker was saying. "I don't say that I approve of your way of getting revenge, but that is your own affair. Remember, however, that people who play with fire are sooner or later sure to be singed."

The other man laughed.

"My feathers were singed a long time ago, Jim," he said.

"Well, here's where I get off. Good luck, old man, and good night."

The train had moved forward slowly, halting at a station a short distance from the last stop. The man who had made the threats accompanied his friend to the door of the car, then instead of returning to the seat he had occupied with his friend, he seated himself opposite the section occupied by the girls.

Bab, determined to know who the man was, peered cautiously between the curtains.

"It's the man in section thirteen!" she exclaimed. Then she realized that she had expressed her thought aloud.

The man wheeled sharply, his face hardening, his eyes narrowed to mere slits as he gazed questioningly about him. He saw no one, for Barbara had quickly withdrawn her head, holding the curtains firmly so that he should observe no movement of them. The girl had learned that which she was so curious to know. She now knew the man who had uttered the threats. He had occupied the section opposite to her all during the previous afternoon, though she did not recall having heard him speak nor did she know his name. The man across the aisle reached for his bag, from which he selected a package of papers. These he regarded thoughtfully for a full minute, after which he opened the package, taking several documents, returning the rest to the bag. Then after drawing his cigar case from the bag, he rose and strode rapidly toward the rear of the car, where the smoking compartment was located.

"So that's the man. I'm glad I know what I do, even though I do not know what it is all about. I must ask Mr. Stuart about that man," mused Barbara. Consulting her watch, she found that it was nearly one o'clock in the morning. The girl shivered, snuggled into her blankets and fell asleep. It was December and the air was chill. Barbara had not been asleep long when she was awakened by a violent jolt, then a bumping that shook her until her teeth chattered. The sleeping car swayed giddily from side to side as it moved slowly forward with a grinding, crunching sound. Then the car gave a lurch that hurled Bab violently against her sister.

Mollie uttered a little cry of alarm. Bab threw her arms about her, hugging Mollie in a tight embrace to save her sister from being thrown against the side of the car. As yet Bab had not had time to think of what was occurring outside. But now she began vaguely to realize that the Pullman car had left the rails. An accident had occurred. Shouts and cries of alarm from various parts of the car testified to the terror of other passengers who were being buffeted about by the rocking sleeper. All at once the forward end of the car appeared to plunge down head first, as it were. The two girls were tumbled into one end of their berth where for a few agonizing seconds both were nearly standing on their heads.

Mollie screamed again.

"Don't!" commanded Barbara sharply in a half-smothered voice, holding her sister even more tightly than before.

"We're going over!" cried Mollie.

Barbara had managed to straighten out and was now bracing herself with all her might. She had thus far made no effort to get out into the aisle. She was a girl quick to think and act in an emergency. She had reasoned that they would be safer in their berth than out of it, for they could not be buffeted about so much in the narrow berth as they might be in the aisle where they could hear the thud of bags and other articles falling from the various berths or being hurled from one side to the other of the car.

The lights suddenly went out. Fortunately the train had not been moving very fast when the accident occurred. Now it gave a sudden, sickening lurch and lay over on its side to the accompaniment of crashing glass as the windows were burst in and renewed cries of fear came from the passengers.

The broad windows of the Thurston girls' berth burst in, sending a shower of glass over them. Both received bruises as well as slight cuts from the broken glass that had showered over them, though Barbara had borne the brunt of the shock, managing to keep her own body between Mollie and danger.

"Are we killed? Are we killed?" moaned Mollie.

"No. We are all right," soothed Bab with a confidence that she did not feel. "Quick! Get on your clothes if you can find them. Here, put this on. Don't try to dress completely, but just throw about you whatever you can find."

While urging her sister to action, Bab was hunting feverishly for their belongings. She thrust the first clothing she could find into the hands of the trembling Mollie, then wrapped the younger girl in a blanket.

"I want my shoes," cried Mollie.

Barbara thrust two shoes into the girl's hands. One was Mollie's shoe, the other Barbara's, but she could not be particular under the circumstances.

Now a new danger threatened. Bab was certain that she could smell smoke. She fairly dragged Mollie from the berth into the aisle that was now tilted at an angle.

"Hurry! Get to the upper end of the car as fast as you can. The other passengers are out I do believe."

"Oh, I can't! Help me, Bab."

"Help yourself. I must look after Grace."

"Grace!" groaned Mollie, a sudden and new fit of trembling seizing upon her until her legs threatened to collapse under her.

Barbara gave her a violent push.

"Climb up the aisle. Support yourself by the seats. You will be able to get through all right. I'll follow you just as soon as I can find Grace. She may have gotten out, but I don't believe she has."

"Is—is—do you think she is dead?" gasped Mollie.

"Hurry!" urged Barbara, as the smell of smoke smote her nostrils more strongly than before. "Grace!" she called, as soon as she saw that Mollie had begun climbing.

There was no answer. Barbara was hurrying into such of her clothing as she was able to find. The intense darkness of the car made any systematic effort to dress impossible.

"Grace! Oh, Grace!"

Still no answer. Bab observed by the light that now filtered through the broken windows of section number thirteen on the opposite side of the aisle, that that section was empty. The car itself appeared to be empty. At least the cries had died out, though outside the car there was a great uproar. Barbara climbed into the upper berth occupied by Grace Carter, who lay silent, unheeding Barbara's voice.

"Oh, Grace! Grace!" begged Barbara, throwing her arms about her friend. "Answer me."

There was no response. A bar of moonlight shone through the broken window of section number thirteen, falling directly on the pallid face of the unconscious girl. Barbara shook her, calling upon her friend to answer, but Grace neither spoke nor stirred.

"Is there any one left in here?" called a voice from the other end of the car.

"Yes, yes; come here quickly and help me," cried Barbara.

Instead of coming to her assistance, the owner of the voice appeared to turn back and go out again. Barbara was now chafing the hands and face of the motionless girl in the upper berth.

"Oh, she's dead, she's dead. What shall I do?" gasped Bab.

With a suddenly formed resolution, she clasped her arms about Grace and with considerable difficulty—for Grace was now a dead weight—dragged the unconscious girl from her berth into the aisle. Bab did not pause for an instant. Handling her friend as tenderly as possible, she began working her way up the steep aisle, making but slow progress, one arm about Grace Carter, the other pulling herself and her heavy burden along by grasping the backs of the seats and the partitions between such of the berths as were made up.

CHAPTER II

THE MISSING PASSENGER

AN endless corridor it seemed to Barbara Thurston as little by little she dragged her drooping burden to the end of the aisle. Reaching the narrow passage that led past the staterooms, she was obliged to creep on hands and knees along the slippery lower side of the car.

Suddenly she heard a groan.

Bab glanced apprehensively at the curtains that hung over the door of the smoking room. The curtains now stood out at a sharp angle. A thin cloud of smoke filtered out from the smoking compartment.

"Oh, there's some one in there," exclaimed the girl. But she had other work to do just then. The young woman struggled on, at last reaching the platform that now stood in the air some feet above the track.

"Jump! We'll catch you," called a voice.

"I—I can't. Help me. My companion is hurt."

"She's got someone with her. Get up there," commanded a sharp voice.

Two trainmen clambered to the platform.

"Is the girl dead?" demanded one.

"I don't know. Oh, please hurry," begged Barbara in an agonized tone.

The men quickly lifted down Grace Carter's limp form. Then they turned to assist Barbara, but she already had swung down without assistance. Mollie was kneeling beside Grace, other passengers crowding about the unconscious girl who lay stretched out on the ground beside the track. Someone pushed through the crowd to Grace and thrust a bottle of smelling salts under her nose.

This served to restore her to consciousness, and she feebly brushed the bottle aside.

"She's alive," screamed Mollie, almost beside herself.

"Oh, I'm so glad!" cried Barbara in an ecstacy of joy.

Grace Carter sat up dazedly.

"Are you hurt, dear?" urged Bab.

"I—I don't know. I think not. Oh, it was awful. I—I thought the world surely was coming to an end. Was anyone—anyone killed?"

"No," answered a voice from the crowd. "Some of us got a fine shaking up, but the train was running so slowly that the shock of the accident was not very severe."

"What was the matter?" asked Grace as Barbara assisted the trembling girl to her feet.

"The trainmen say it was a loose rail. They've been putting in new rails at this point and the train was running slowly on that account, the work not yet being entirely finished."

At this juncture the conductor came bustling up, ordering the passengers to go to the cars ahead, which had not left the track. The train was to move on in a few minutes. A flagman had been stationed some distance to the rear to stop any following trains and the conductor was anxious to reach the next station ahead to telegraph for a wrecking train and report the wreck of the sleepers. A pleasant-faced woman whom Barbara had seen on the train the day before, stepped up and offered to assist them, which she did by placing an arm about Grace, helping to support the latter in the walk to the cars.

"I am Miss Thompson, from Chicago," said the woman. "My father is with me. I saw you yesterday and wanted to speak to you. Are you going to Chicago?"

"Yes. You are very kind," answered Barbara.

"I wonder if all the passengers were gotten out of the sleeper?" asked Miss Thompson when they had finally reached the cars up ahead and Grace had been comfortably disposed of in another sleeper.

Barbara started.

"Oh, I forgot. Conductor! There was a man in the smoking compartment of our car."

The porter who had followed them with the other passengers and such luggage as he could find, shook his head.

"I know there was. I had forgotten all about it," declared Bab. "I heard someone groan in there as I passed the compartment with my friend. Where is the man who occupied the lower berth of section thirteen?"

No one had seen him. All the other passengers had been accounted for, but no one had seen the tall, slim, sandy-haired man from section number thirteen.

"Then he is in that smoking compartment. I saw him when he went there. The compartment was on fire when I passed it," cried Barbara Thurston, springing up, her face flushed, her eyes large and troubled.

"If there's anyone there the men will find him. There was no fire in that car," said the conductor, with which statement the porter agreed.

"There was smoke," declared Bab. "I don't know about fire. I do know that I'm going back to find out about that man," she announced.

"Come back," called the conductor. "We're going to start."

Unheeding, Barbara ran for the door, and, leaping from the platform, started on a run back to the wrecked sleeper. The conductor was determined to move his train, but the passengers objected so strenuously that he reluctantly decided to wait and make a further hurried search of the wrecked sleeper.

With a porter and half a dozen passengers the conductor followed Barbara. She could smell the smoke before she reached the car. Hastily climbing to the platform, she crawled in. By the time she had gotten into the corridor a porter had also climbed up. The smoke was so thick and suffocating that the girl choked and coughed.

"He's here," she cried, as a faint groan reached her ears. "Hurry! Oh, do hurry!" Then Bab's words were lost in the fit of coughing that had seized her.

Three men pushed their way into the smoking compartment. They saw that the carpet was smouldering. It had probably been set on fire by a burning cigar or a lighted match. There was no blaze, just a dull smoulder and a lot of smoke. It did not seem possible that one could live in that atmosphere for very long.

Suddenly the porter stumbled over the form of a man. It was the former occupant of section number thirteen.

"Young woman, get out of here at once," commanded the conductor. "We will take care of this man."

Bab staggered out to the platform, where she waited. A minute later the men came out bearing the unconscious form of the stranger. Barbara asked if he were dead. The men said no, but that he was half suffocated from the smoke he had inhaled. They carried the man on ahead to the train and up to the dining car, after which a doctor was hurriedly summoned from one of the other cars. In the meantime Barbara had returned to her companions, who were anxiously awaiting her reappearance. She told them of finding the man, and was warmly commended by the passengers for her bravery.

"I do wish we could get word to Ruth Stuart that we are all right," said Barbara, after she had related the story of the finding of the man from section thirteen.

"Ruth Stuart?" questioned Miss Thompson. "I wonder if by any chance she could be related to Robert Stuart, a Chicago broker?"

"Why, she is his daughter. Do you know the Stuarts?" cried Barbara, a smile lighting up her face still pale and somewhat drawn.

"No, but my father wishes to know Mr. Stuart. Only yesterday he was speaking of him. I should not be surprised if he were to call on Mr. Stuart soon to discuss a business matter with him."

"The world is small, after all, isn't it?" smiled Bab. "We are on our way to Chicago to visit the Stuarts. We are friends of Ruth Stuart. We four are known to our friends as the 'Automobile Girls.'"

The readers of this series must undoubtedly feel well acquainted with that quartette of sweet, dainty, lovable girls, Ruth Stuart, Barbara and Mollie Thurston and Grace Carter, who were met with in the first volume of this series, "The Automobile Girls at Newport." Their acquaintance really dated from the time Barbara Thurston so pluckily stopped a team of runaway horses driven by Ruth Stuart, a wealthy western girl, then summering at Kingsbridge, the home of the Thurstons. A warm friendship sprang up almost at once between the two girls, culminating in a long trip in Ruth's automobile, during which journey Ruth, Bab and Mollie Thurston, their friend Grace Carter, and their chaperon, Aunt Sallie Stuart, met with many exciting adventures. It was on this eventful trip, as will be recalled, that Barbara distinguished herself by causing the arrest of a society jewel thief, at the same time heaping coals of fire on the head of a girl cousin who had treated Barbara and Mollie with scornful contempt.

The girls were next heard from in "The Automobile Girls in the Berkshires," to which region, chaperoned, as always, by Ruth's Aunt Sallie, they had driven in Ruth's car for a month's stay in a lonely cabin in the Berkshire Hills. Their experiences with the "Ghost of Lost Man's Trail" was not the least of their exciting adventures there; in fact, their stay in the mountains was filled with a succession of strange happenings that thrilled the girls as nothing in their lives ever had done before.

By this time they considered themselves veteran automobilists and seasoned travelers. As related in "The Automobile Girls Along the Hudson," the now famous quartette showed themselves fully equal to the more than ordinary emergencies they met with from time to time on a most eventful journey. From balking highwaymen to fighting a forest fire that for a time threatened the ancestral home of Major Ten Eyck, whose guests they were at the time, the "Automobile Girls" fully lived up to the reputation they had earned for themselves.

After their trip through the Sleepy Hollow country, Ruth had returned to her home in Chicago, while Mollie, Barbara and Grace had settled down to their studies in the Kingsbridge High School. But with the approach of the holidays had come Ruth's cordial invitation to spend Christmas with her in her own home, not forgetting to mention "Mr. A. Bubble," who, she promised, would do his part toward making their visit a lively one. The three girls had set out on their journey to the Windy City on the Chicago Express, that journey having been interrupted in a most unexpected manner, as already related.

The conductor sent off a message for them to Ruth Stuart at the next stop. It was a characteristic message from Barbara, reading:

"Train wrecked. 'Automobile Girls' safe. Arrive some time.

"Grace, Mollie, Bab."

This telegram for a time created no little excitement in the Stuart home.

Daylight was upon them by the time the train started from the scene of the wreck. Grace said she felt as though she had contracted a severe cold, for she was aching in every muscle of her body. Mollie declared that she was all right, but Bab averred that she knew she hadn't been in bed in a hundred years.

The dining car was opened early, for all the passengers felt the need of something more sustaining than fright. When the girls came back from the dining car they felt much better. Grace had suffered no serious injuries, but Bab's face was scratched from the particles of broken glass that had showered over her when the windows burst in.

A young man was occupying Barbara's seat when she entered the car they had occupied since the accident. He was leaning back against the high chair. His eyes were closed and a bandage was bound about his head.

"That's the man from number thirteen," whispered Barbara over her shoulder to Mollie. He glanced up, met Barbara's eyes and smiled.

"I am very glad to see that you weren't seriously hurt," said Bab.

The young man rose, supporting himself by the back of the chair.

"Are these your seats?" he asked.

"Yes, but please do not disturb yourself," urged Bab, taking a seat across the aisle. The young man leaned toward her.

"You are Miss Thurston, are you not?" he asked.

Barbara nodded, flushing a little.

"I have been told that I practically owe my life to you. The fire was nothing but a smoulder of the carpet, but I was slowly being asphyxiated. Thirty minutes more and it would have been all up with me. Even had I been rescued too late to get this train it would have been serious for me. My presence in Chicago to-day is imperative. I might say that it involves my whole future. You see, my dear young lady, you have done more for me than you perhaps realize. You are going to Chicago?"

"Yes; we are going on a visit to our friends, Mr. Robert Stuart and his daughter."

"Robert Stuart!" exclaimed the young man. Then his face grew hard.

Suddenly the conversation that she had overheard the previous night flashed into the mind of Barbara Thurston. The color left her face. The young man's keen eyes observed her change of expression. He shot a sharp glance of inquiry at her.

"I have a slight acquaintance with Mr. Stuart and his daughter," he said coldly. "I also know intimate friends of theirs, Mr. and Mrs. Presby and their daughter. Therefore I may have the pleasure of meeting you again. I think perhaps I had better lie down and rest for the remainder of the journey. By the way," he continued, after a slight hesitation, "did you perchance discover a bundle of papers when you found me in the compartment on the other car?"

"Oh, I beg your pardon!" exclaimed Bab. "I did find some papers. They are in my bag. I picked them up from the floor of the car thinking they might be of value to you."

Slightly confused, Barbara opened her bag, and after turning over its contents drew forth a bundle of papers held together with rubber bands. She handed the bundle to the young man.

The smile that lit up his face as he thanked her changed his expression completely. It was almost a gentle smile, and seemed strangely out of place on that cold, calculating face.

"Here is my card. I am rated as a cold, heartless man. But, my dear Miss Thurston, I have at least one virtue—gratitude. If ever you are in need of assistance in any way do not hesitate to call upon me," he said, extending a hand to Barbara as he rose rather unsteadily to his feet. Bab mechanically dropped the card into her bag without looking at it, closing and dropping the bag on the floor beside her before accepting the hand. The touch of the cold fingers of the man's hand sent a feeling of dislike through her. It recalled to her mind more vividly than ever the conversation she had overheard in the sleeper.

"I hope I never shall see him again," muttered Barbara, just as Miss Thompson came smiling up to them. But Barbara Thurston was destined to see the man whom she had rescued, though under circumstances that she little dreamed of at the present moment.

CHAPTER III

A DIZZY ROUND OF PLEASURE

THE train stopped at Englewood for a moment and then pulled out again for the Union Station. The girls already knew that they were in Chicago, and were feverishly gathering up their wraps. Bab was drawing on her overshoes when two warm hands were suddenly pressed over her eyes.

"Guess who it is?" cried Grace, after she and Mollie had uttered little smothered exclamations of delight.

"It's my Ruth! Oh, Ruth, Ruth!" cried Barbara, springing up and flinging both arms about the neck of Ruth, fairly smothering her friend with kisses. Ruth and her father had gotten on at Englewood to welcome their young friends.

"You dear, dear 'Automobile Girls,'" cried Ruth, now clasping the three girls one after another in a tight embrace.

"Am I to be left out of this entirely?" questioned Ruth's father in an aggrieved tone.

The girls disengaged themselves from Ruth's arms and fairly pounced upon Mr. Robert Stuart.

"Oh, how is dear Aunt Sallie and Mr. A. Bubble?" laughed Barbara, her eyes shining with joy.

"Aunt Sallie is waiting to greet you at our home. Mr. A. Bubble is outside growling over your delay in getting to Chicago," smiled Mr. Stuart.

"We received your telegram," said Mr. Stuart, as they left the Union Station. "For a time we were considerably upset. Later we saw an account of the wreck in the morning paper. We did not learn that anyone was injured."

"What caused it? Wasn't it awful?" questioned Ruth, gazing at her friends admiringly. "And to think I wasn't there to share the honor of being mixed up with a railroad wreck. Too bad," she pouted.

"It wasn't a wreck, it was a shake-up," answered Grace.

"I am glad you were not with us. Who knows what might have occurred," answered Bab soberly. "Oh, there is Mr. Bubble," she cried, her serious expression changing to a happy smile as she ran forward to the puffing red automobile and patted it affectionately. A thin curl of blue smoke was rising from the exhaust of the motor car.

"Hear him purr his delight," cried Mollie. "He's just like a contented kitten for all the world," she laughed. "He isn't grumbling at all."

"He was grumbling loudly enough when we left him," answered Mr. Stuart.

"That's because he was cold. But we will warm Mr. A. Bubble up on our way home," declared Ruth. This she did, keeping a wary eye out for traffic policemen who might claim that she was exceeding the speed limit. But Ruth knew fairly well where to look out for a traffic man and where not to look for him. Up Dearborn Street to Madison Street the car whirled, the sharp air putting color in the faces of the girls and making their eyes sparkle.

Bab kept stealing perplexed glances at Mr. Stuart. Something was on the young woman's mind, but she did not give expression to the thought. In the meantime the girls were chattering at a rapid rate. Through Madison Street they traveled and into Michigan Avenue, where a gust of biting wind fresh from Lake Michigan smote them in the face.

"Oh, look at the river!" cried Mollie.

"That's Lake Michigan, you goose," answered Ruth, laughing merrily. "How insulting to call our lake a river. But here we are."

The car swung into a driveway, coming to a halt before an imposing residence, four stories high, overlooking the lake.

"What is this great building?" questioned Mollie.

"This is where we live, dear," answered Ruth. "This is my home."

"Oh, dear me, I thought it was the Chicago public library," retorted Mollie.

"Molliekins, what are we going to do with you?" chided Ruth, laughing.

The other girls were already running up the broad stone steps. The doors swung open and the next second Barbara, Mollie and Grace threw themselves into the arms of Miss Sallie Stuart. There was a volley of little screams of delight and any number of resounding smacks. Mr. Stuart had followed them in. He stood with his back to the door, smiling contentedly on the joyous scene. He had come to love the three girls with a love that was not far behind his affection for his own daughter Ruth.

The girls having released Miss Sallie from their embrace, Ruth dragged her friends upstairs. They were first shown to their own rooms, and wonderful rooms they were. None of the three girls from Kingsbridge ever had seen anything to compare with the beauty of these handsome apartments. A few minutes later they were in Ruth's private sitting room, the walls of which were done in pale blue silk. The furniture was of old mahogany and on a dainty writing desk the girls found paper and envelopes bearing the monogram "A. G." Ruth had had these prepared for the girls' use.

"Now, girls," she said, "are you too fatigued after your exciting experiences to go out this evening?"

"No, indeed," cried the three girls in chorus.

"Then listen! Father has taken a box at the opera for this evening. We are to hear Romeo and Juliet——"

"Oh, how perfectly lovely," bubbled Mollie.

"That reminds me, Molliekins, that I received a note from your 'lovely lady,' Mrs. Cartwright, yesterday. She asked me to tell you to look for a diamond butterfly at the opera to-night. She thought that might help you to locate an old friend."

Mollie smiled happily. At this juncture there came a light tap at the door and a well-known gentle voice asked, "may I come in?"

Miss Sallie was assisted into the room somewhat faster than she considered dignified, but there was no resisting her "Automobile Girls." After getting her breath she sank into an easy chair, the girls surrounding her.

"I want to consult with you about our plans," she said. "We wish to make this reunion one that you will remember all the rest of your lives. Our cousins, the Presbys, wish you to spend some time with them. Olive Presby, their daughter, is especially desirous of having you there. You will find her a charming girl and I am sure you will all fall in love with her at sight. What do you say?"

"About the falling in love?" questioned Mollie innocently.

"No, no, Molliekins," rebuked Ruth. "About the invitation, of course."

"I am sure we shall be well pleased with whatever arrangements have been made for us," said Grace.

"Yes, indeed," added Barbara.

"I am between fire and water," declared Ruth laughingly, as she dropped into a chair before the fireplace. "I want you to stay and I want you to go to the Presbys. I have decided, with your approval, that we shall divide your time between our home and the Presbys' place. First, we will do Chicago, after which we will go to Cousin Jane and Cousin Richard Presby. They have a grand old home and hundreds of acres of grounds surrounding it."

"Are they so very rich?" questioned Mollie.

"On the contrary, they are extremely poor," answered Aunt Sallie, whereat Mollie puckered her brow in perplexity. "Their property is heavily mortgaged. They are in a fair way to lose it unless——"

"Unless what, Aunt Sallie?" asked Bab gently.

"Unless perhaps they may in the meantime find the buried treasure."

The effect of this announcement on Mollie, Barbara and Grace made Miss Sallie smile.

"Buried treasure? Buried treasure! Oh, oh, oh!" they cried in chorus.

"Don't get excited, dears. There is no chance for the 'Automobile Girls,'" interjected Ruth. "I've stirred myself up so many times over that old treasure that I have lost ever and ever so many nights' sleep. Take my advice and forget all about it," she admonished.

"Oh, please tell us about it," urged Mollie.

"A buried treasure? How perfectly delightful!" sparkled Barbara.

"I haven't time to tell you now. It is a long story. This treasure was buried many years ago by one of the Presbys' ancestors. They will tell you all about it when you go out there, and I am sure Cousin Richard can make the story much more interesting than I could."

This had to suffice for the present, though the girls were burning to hear the story. Anything that savored of adventure appealed to these healthy, outdoor girls, and what could be more adventurous than hunting for a treasure that had been buried for years and years?

The girls' trunks had been brought up, and while they were dressing for the evening, Bab took advantage of the occasion to consult with Ruth about her gown.

Ruth ran forward, flinging her arms about Barbara's neck the instant Bab came into her room.

"Dear, dear old Bab," she breathed, running tender fingers over the shining brown hair of her companion. "You can't know how I have wanted you. It seems years since last I saw you. Answer me truly, dear. How do you think father is looking?"

Barbara's face sobered instantly. Ruth noted the quick change of expression.

"You needn't tell me. I see by your expression what you think," added Ruth quickly, brushing a stray wisp of hair from her face.

"That was what I wished to ask you about, dear," said Barbara. "He looks so worn. What is the trouble? Has your father been ill?"

"No. Not in the sense you mean. Nevertheless, we are greatly worried about him. He has been speculating. We think he has lost a lot of money. He does not speak of his business affairs as he used to do, and that makes us all the more certain that things are not going as they should with him. However, I mustn't speak of these matters now, as I wish you to have the happiest time of your life while you are with us. Why, Barbara Thurston, what a lovely frock!" exclaimed Ruth impulsively.

Barbara flushed with pleasure at the compliment. Her gown was of dark red crepe-de-chine, trimmed in soft folds of liberty velvet. Bab had tucked a single red rose in her hair. Ruth never had seen Bab look more charming.

"It is mother's Christmas present to me," explained Bab, referring to the frock. "I think it very pretty."

"I wish I could look half so well in anything," answered Ruth, but without a trace of envy in her tone. "But I must hurry. If I run on like this we'll never get to the opera."

"I was just about to ask if you mind my running down to chat with your father a few moments before we go?"

"Do, dear. It will do him good. You always act like a tonic on father," smiled Ruth. "He's in the library."

Bab tripped away, holding up her skirts, followed by the admiring eyes of her friend.

"She's such a dear," mused Ruth, beginning the finishing touches of her dressing.

Bab was especially anxious to see Mr. Stuart alone. She wanted to see if she could fathom the cause of his distress. He looked even more tired and careworn than when she had first seen him. She entered the library rather diffidently pausing before Mr. Stuart, who stood near the fireplace.

"Am I intruding?" asked Bab.

"Intruding, my dear? You could not do that. But how beautiful you are to-night."

"Don't. Please don't," protested Bab with well-feigned displeasure. "You will make me a vain little creature. Ruth has just said the same thing to me. At this rate I fear I shall begin to believe something of the sort myself very soon."

"No," answered Mr. Stuart, gazing at her approvingly. "You are far too sensible a young woman to have your head turned so easily as that. Tell me about your good mother. How is she?"

"Quite well, thank you," replied Bab simply.

"I am sorry that she could not come with you. We had hoped to have her with us."

"Yes, we wanted mother to come. She asked me to thank you very kindly for your invitation, but said it would not be possible for her to go so far away from home just now. Perhaps later she may visit you."

"Bab, a good mother like yours is a most priceless treasure. Never forget to value your treasure at its real worth," said Mr. Stuart impressively.

"I do and I trust I always shall, sir," answered Barbara, and Robert Stuart smiled, for he knew that she meant what she said.

Ruth and the other two girls came in at this juncture and the conversation turned on their gowns and the pleasures that were before them that evening. Barbara had not mentioned that she thought Mr. Stuart was looking ill. She would not have ventured to do so, although she was more convinced than before that something very, very serious had come into the life of her friend's father. She wondered if she might not be able to do something to relieve the distress under which he was so plainly laboring.

"There, now, what did I tell you, Bab?" demanded Ruth, entering the library. "Didn't I say you were always a tonic to father?"

Barbara blushed.

"She is indeed, daughter. So are you all. But we must be going. Is your Aunt Sallie ready?"

"She is waiting for us in the reception room," answered Ruth.

"Then we will be off. Be sure that you girls are well wrapped up. You are not used to going out in this climate with such thin gowns. Ruth, where is your cloak?"

"Below, father. I will pick it up on my way down."

Then they started downstairs, Mr. Stuart leading the way. They were joined by Miss Sallie in the hallway and a few minutes later were being borne away by Mr. A. Bubble, who, for this evening at least, was on his best behavior. Reaching the opera house, they were conducted to the box reserved for them. Ruth insisted on her guests occupying the front chairs. How the heads of the three little Kingsbridge girls did swim! Beautiful gowns, beautiful women and dazzling jewels were to be seen wherever the eye rested. It was a brilliant and animated scene, such as none of the three girls ever before had gazed upon, for this was their first visit to the opera.

"Isn't it all wonderful?" said Bab to Ruth.

"Yes, indeed," responded Ruth warmly. "There is nothing quite like an opera night, and I have been particularly interested in grand opera since we discovered Zerlina."

"Oh, to be sure," exclaimed Bab. "Where is Zerlina now?"

"She is in Paris, studying under the best teachers that can be procured for her," replied Ruth. "She writes me regularly. Her teachers give her great encouragement, and she expects to be ready to sing important rôles within the next two years. She adores José, and he is delighted with having so talented a sister."

"She is one of the most beautiful girls I have ever seen," said Barbara. "What a wonderful 'Carmen' she will make."

"Yes; won't she, though," responded Ruth eagerly, "and that is the part that she particularly looks forward to singing."

The subject of Ruth's and Barbara's conversation was a beautiful gypsy girl that they had met during their trip along the Hudson. She had become a protegé of Ruth, who had cherished high hopes of sending Zerlina to a conservatory, but had been forestalled by the appearance on the scene of Zerlina's handsome half-brother, José Martinez. On account of family differences, José and Zerlina had been separated for many years, but in the end Zerlina was persuaded by him to place herself under his protection. All of this has been fully narrated in "The Automobile Girls Along the Hudson."

"What do you think of it, Molliekins?" whispered Ruth over Mollie's shoulder.

"Think of it?" breathed the golden-haired Mollie. "I'm so happy that I could scream right out so everybody in the theatre would hear me," answered Mollie. "I don't know what I shall do when the music begins."

A wave of laughter rippled over the box at Mollie's quaint way of expressing her delight.

CHAPTER IV

BATTLE OF THE BULLS AND BEARS

THAT evening at the opera was like a dream to the little Kingsbridge girls. Mrs. Cartwright visited them between the acts, then they were introduced to Olive Presby, who came to their box, accompanied by a young man named Jack Howard, an artist who had just returned from Paris. These two had been chums since childhood.

Bab thought Olive the most beautiful girl she had ever seen. She could not keep her eyes off of her, and Olive appeared to be equally attracted to Barbara, though there was little opportunity for conversation between them. Olive was fully five years older than Barbara with fair skin, black hair, and eyes of deep gray, veiled with long, black lashes, making an unusual and most attractive combination. Olive Presby was a striking looking girl. All through the second act Bab kept gazing across at Olive, and it was with a deep sigh of regret that Barbara finally turned her eyes away under the teasing of Ruth and Grace. The glorious evening came to a close all too soon for them.

Reaching home, the girls lost little time in getting to their rooms, for the three travelers had had little sleep in the past two nights.

They fell asleep almost the instant their heads touched their pillows, but in spite of their late hours the four girls descended to the dining room the following morning bright-eyed and ready for whatever the day might bring forth.

Miss Sallie rustled in, dressed in her silk morning gown a few moments after the others had reached the dining room. The girls greeted her enthusiastically, each girl giving her a hearty hug and kiss, after which they seated themselves at the breakfast table, and a lively chattering ensued.

"What do you think of Cousin Olive?" asked Ruth.

"Oh, I just love her," cried Bab enthusiastically.

A cloud passed swiftly over the face of Ruth Stewart.

"I could love her almost to death. Is she engaged to Mr. Howard?"

"No indeed," said Miss Sallie with emphasis. "Olive is devoted to her parents, especially now that they are in such deep trouble. She is their comfort in their distress and she knows it."

"Young ladies," interrupted Mr. Stuart, "do you feel equal to beginning your sight-seeing to-day?"

"We do," chorused the girls.

"I have so planned my affairs as to have this day free for you. Mr. A. Bubble also is at your disposal. He has had a thorough going over at the hands of his man this morning, and I think you will find him in fine condition."

"Olive Presby is coming to see you this morning, you know," reminded Miss Sallie.

Ruth's face clouded again. Bab's eyes glowed, for she wished to see Olive even more than to explore Chicago.

"We might call her up on the telephone and have her come over so she may go with us," suggested Mr. Stuart.

The girls seconded this proposal enthusiastically, and this was done without delay, Olive promising to come over as soon after breakfast as possible.

"I propose," announced Mr. Stuart, "to take you over to the Board of Trade on La Salle Street to show you the famous Pit."

"Is it a very big hole?" questioned Mollie innocently, whereat a merry laugh rippled all the way around the table.

"The Pit," explained Mr. Stuart, smilingly, "is the place where men buy and sell grain-stuffs. It's the same as stock speculation."

Mollie thought stock speculation was trading in cattle.

"You ridiculous child," exclaimed Ruth. "I'll explain it to you so you will understand it. Now if you want to speculate you order your brokers, for instance, to 'buy a thousand shares of B. Sell five thousand shares of G and ten thousand shares of C.' That's all. Next morning you wake up to find yourself ten or fifteen thousand dollars richer——"

"Or poorer," added Mr. Stuart. "I must say, Ruth, that your explanation is very lucid. Take the girls down to my office, leaving here at half past ten o'clock. I shall have my morning mail disposed of by that time and my day's orders issued, then my time will be at your disposal. Sallie, are you going with the girls?"

"No, thank you. Not this morning. I have seen quite all of Chicago, I think. Besides, I have no love for your horrid Board of Trade. The automobile will be pretty well filled as it is."

"Oh, please come with us," urged Mollie.

Aunt Sallie shook her head smilingly, so it was arranged that the girls should go downtown by themselves, there to be met by Mr. Stuart. Olive bustled in shortly before ten o'clock. She was dressed in a brown tailor-made suit of broadcloth, with furs and hat of mink. She came running up the stairs to Ruth's sitting room, bright and eager, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.

"Here I am," she cried gayly. "I'm going to introduce myself all over again. I'm Olive, girls. I'm a sort of adopted cousin of the 'Automobile Girls.' So this is Bab," she sparkled, giving Barbara's hand a friendly squeeze. "This little yellow-haired girl is Mollie, and the bigger, brown-haired one is Grace. Now I think we are properly introduced. Now what can I do to add to the pleasure of the 'Automobile Girls' this fine morning?"

"I would suggest that you first sit down and compose yourself," replied Ruth with some severity. "How you do run on, Olive."

"Now, I call that downright mean," pouted Miss Presby. "Don't you, Bab?" Olive suddenly bent over Barbara, giving the little Kingsbridge girl an impulsive hug.

Ruth frowned. Bab looked embarrassed. She felt that Ruth resented Olive's affectionate demonstration. It caused the three Kingsbridge girls, however, to lose their awe of Miss Presby, whom they had before looked upon as a superior grown-up person.

"What are the plans for the day, dear?" questioned Olive, turning to Ruth.

"We are first to go to the office to pick up father. He is to take us to the Pit. I don't know where we shall go from there."

About this time a maid came up to tell them that the car was at the door. The girls hurried down, laughing and chatting, Ruth's irritation apparently having been banished from her mind. It was a bright, sparkling day. The lake glistened and the wind from it again blew the color into the faces of the "Automobile Girls."

Mr. Stuart's office was in one of the tall office buildings on La Salle Street, not far from the Board of Trade. The girls were shot up to the seventeenth floor on the elevator with a speed that fairly took their breaths away. Mollie uttered a chorus of subdued "ohs" all the way up.

Even in the staid business office the girls found much to interest them. Mollie's attention was first attracted to an energetic little machine at one side of the room. This odd looking machine ticked like a clock, but resembled one in no other way, and from it at intervals spun a narrow, ribbon-like strip of paper which curled and coiled into an elongated waste-paper basket. Mollie stood over the basket regarding the perplexing letters and figures printed on the paper ribbon.

"Do—do you make ribbons on this?" she questioned, laying a finger on the glass globe that covered the mechanism.

"Not exactly, my dear," answered Mr. Stuart. "But that little machine sometimes helps us to buy ribbons for our families. That is a ticker. It gives the market quotations. I hardly think you will be interested in it."

Mollie decided that she wasn't.

"If you are ready, girls, we will go over to the Board of Trade, where you will see the bulls and bears engaged in a pitched battle. It is to be a lively day on the floor of the Pit."

Mollie was frowning perplexedly.

"Are we really going to see a bull fight?" she whispered to Ruth. "Do the bulls and the bears really fight? I—I don't think I want to see them if they do."

"No, no, silly. Nothing of the sort. Oh, girls!" laughed Ruth merrily.

"Don't you dare tell them," admonished Mollie, "I'll never forgive you if you do."

"Never mind," called Ruth to the others, "I'll explain, dear. Of course you know nothing about these things. I wish I didn't. I wish father did not, either," she added with a touch of bitterness. "Bulls and bears are mere men. The bulls are those who try to force up the prices of wheat and other things, while the bears are the ones who seek to keep the prices down. I—I never have been able to make up my mind which of them is the most undesirable."

"I am sure Mr. Stuart isn't a bear," muttered Mollie.

"Indeed he is not," laughed Ruth, once more restored to good nature.

Instead of taking Mr. A. Bubble, the girls walked down from Mr. Stuart's office to the big, gloomy building that housed the Board of Trade. They were conducted to the gallery, where Mr. Stuart left them to go down to the brokers' rooms to consult with some of his friends.

It was a mad, wild scene that the little country girls gazed upon. It was like nothing they ever had seen before.

"Goodness me, they are fighting!" cried Barbara in alarm.

Men were dashing about here and there. Hats were smashed, paper was being torn by nervous hands and hurled into the air, to fall like miniature snow flurries over the heads of the traders. Shouts and yells, hoarse calls were heard from all parts of the floor. One man threw up a hand with the fingers spread wide apart. Instantly a dozen men hurled themselves upon him. He staggered and fell. Willing hands jerked him to his feet. It was then that the "Automobile Girls" saw that the unfortunate man's coat had been torn from him. His collar flapped under his ears and a tiny red mark was observable on one cheek.

"Oh!" gasped the Kingsbridge girls.

"Wha-a-at are they fighting about?" gasped Mollie, her face pale with excitement, perhaps mingled with a little fear.

"They aren't fighting." Ruth had to place her lips close to the ears of her companion to make herself heard. "They are buying and selling. That is the way business is done on the floor of the Pit. See! There is father!"

The girls gazed wide-eyed. Mr. Stuart had projected himself into the maelstrom of excited traders. He, like the rest, was waving his arms and shouting. A group of excited men instantly surrounded him. He was for the moment the centre of attention, for Robert Stuart was one of the largest and most successful traders on the Chicago Board of Trade. The battle waged furiously about him, while the "Automobile Girls" gazed in fascinated awe upon the strange, exciting scene.

All at once a gong sounded. The tension seemed to snap. Men who had been fighting and shouting suddenly ceased their activities. The bodies of some grew limp, as it were. Some staggered. Others walked from the floor laughing and chatting. Out of the crowds strode a man—a young man. What first attracted the attention of the girls to him was a bandage about his head. He was walking straight toward them, though on the floor below. All at once he glanced up. Only Bab was looking down at him now. His gaze swept over the gallery. His eyes rested for a moment on the face of Barbara Thurston.

"The man from section thirteen!" exclaimed Bab under her breath. Then as she caught his eyes, she gazed in trembling fascination. The man's features were contorted. Barbara thought it was the most frightful face she ever had gazed upon. Anger, deadly passion and desperate purpose were written there so plainly that anyone could read. Looking her fairly in the face, the man sneered. Whether he recognized her or not, the girl did not know.

"Oh!" cried Bab, with a shudder.

"What is it, dear?" questioned Ruth anxiously.

"Oh, take me away from here. Please take me away," almost sobbed Barbara. "I—I can't stand it. It was awful."

"Come, girls," urged Ruth. "Bab is upset. I will confess that I have had enough of this place of nightmares." Rising, she led her friends down the stairs to the lower floor. Barbara was still trembling when they saw Mr. Stuart coming toward them. His face was set and stern. But the instant he caught sight of the "Automobile Girls" the sternness drifted slowly from his features, giving place to a pleased smile.

"Why, Barbara, how pale you are!" he exclaimed. "What is the matter?"

"She is upset," answered Ruth briefly.

Mr. Stuart eyed her keenly.

"Was the excitement too much for you, my dear?" he asked.

"I—I think so," replied Bab. Then as the thought of that face and its dreadful expression recurred to her mind, she trembled more violently than before. Mr. Stuart linked his arm in hers and led her away, followed by the others of the party.

"It really is no place for young girls," said Mr. Stuart. "I should not have brought you here. Girls, we will take the car and go home at once. Barbara had better lie down for a while before luncheon. She is completely unnerved."

This Barbara knew to be true, but by great effort she conquered her fit of trembling, and before the Stuart's residence was reached she had in a great measure regained her self-control.

CHAPTER V

AN EMBARRASSING MOMENT

"OH, it is good to be back," declared Bab, as they entered the broad, cheerful hall of the Stuart mansion. "I don't feel as though I ever wanted to leave the house again."

"I like it here just as well as you do," answered Mollie. "But I shouldn't like to feel that I had to stay inside the house always."

Ruth had made good time on the return, now and then "shaving the paint from the sides of a street car," as Bab expressed it. Still, Ruth Stuart was not nearly as careless a driver as she appeared to be. She did take chances frequently, but the guiding hand at the wheel was sure and steady. She seldom used bad judgment. Her father had such confidence in her driving that he never interfered while riding with her. As for the three Kingsbridge girls, they were by this time so used to Ruth's driving that they declined to get nervous even when she had narrow escapes from collision.

"Girls, I am glad you have returned," greeted Miss Sallie, meeting them in the hallway as they entered. "You have callers."

"Pshaw!" muttered Ruth disgustedly. "Bab wants to lie down and rest. She is all upset. Can't we make our escape?"

"I am all right now," protested Barbara. "However, the company probably came to see Ruth instead of the rest of us."

"You are wrong," smiled Aunt Sallie.

"Who is it?" questioned Ruth.

"Cousin Richard, Cousin Jane and Tom Presby. You don't mind them."

"Oh, no indeed," laughed Ruth. "Come on, girls, let's go upstairs and get rid of our wraps, and remove some of this Chicago smoke from our faces. If I look as dirty as I feel I must be a sight."

"Father and mother here? You don't mean it?" exclaimed Olive in surprise. "I wonder why they have come in. Girls, you needn't worry about your appearance. Neither father nor mother will notice it. They are well used to the ways of healthy girls. As for Tom, well he doesn't figure at all. He wouldn't know whether our faces were clean or grimy. Come right in. Are they in the library, Aunt Sallie?"

"Yes, dear."

"Not one step will I go until I have made myself more beautiful," declared Ruth.

"I don't think that would be possible," said Bab in a tone calculated for Ruth's ears alone.

"Don't," begged Ruth. "I shall think you insincere if you don't stop talking that way. And my face is so besmudged that I am not fit to see anyone. You must come upstairs with me," she added, linking an arm in Barbara's. "Please tell them we shall be right down, Auntie."

Olive went directly to the library to see her parents. The other girls soon followed her. The library was darkened, lighted only by the snapping fire in the fireplace. Mr. Presby explained that he had come into town to see Mr. Stuart, who was at that moment welcoming him. Mr. Stuart excused himself, promising that he would return to his guests as soon as he had telephoned certain necessary orders to his office. Mr. Stuart had barely left the room when Bab and Ruth entered. Olive came forward quickly. She took Barbara's arm in hers, steering Bab toward Mrs. Presby.

"I want you to meet my mother. I know you will love her, for she's a dear. Mama, this is Barbara Thurston, of whom you have heard so much. I can assure you that she has not been overrated."

Bab moved blushingly forward. The floor was one of those slippery, hard-wood traps for the unwary. Barbara was not used to polished floors. She took a long step to keep up with Olive, who was moving rapidly. Bab's foot came in contact with a small rug, and together the rug and foot slid over the slippery floor.

Barbara Thurston's other foot followed the first. Realizing that a fall was inevitable, Barbara quickly released her arm from Miss Presby's.

"Oh!" exclaimed Bab, and sat down on the floor with such force that it jarred her from head to foot. There was a distinct vibration from several articles in the room as though they were moving out of sheer sympathy for the unfortunate girl.

Barbara struggled to her feet. Again she stumbled over the rug that had caused her to fall, and brought up heavily against a dark object near by. The object uttered a deep groan, as out of the shadows limped an elderly, dignified man. Pain and anger were struggling for the mastery of his facial expression. Barbara had landed fairly on Mr. Richard Presby's gouty foot.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry," pleaded the girl. "I am so awkward and I did not see you at all. Please forgive me, if you can," she begged.

Mr. Presby, however, merely grunted out some unintelligible words. That he was not appeased by her contrition was plain to be seen. He had been in the act of rising to his feet to bow to the girls when Bab collided with him. Grace, Mollie and Ruth, who had followed Barbara into the room, suppressed their giggles with no little effort.

Barbara rushed toward the shadowy, far corner of the room, where she sought to hide her confusion. She flung herself into a great, easy chair. Something under her moved and wriggled.

"Oh, I say," exclaimed a voice from under her. "Get up. Don't put me out of business, too."

Bab sprang to her feet, her face burning with humiliation. She whirled about and peered into the depths of the chair. There sat a boy of twelve, grinning from ear to ear.

"I'm Tom," he informed her. "Lucky for me it wasn't I who stepped on the governor's game foot."

"Oh!" cried Barbara.

"I forgive you for sitting on me, but gracious, you're heavy."

Just at this moment Olive Presby, had hurried across the room. There was deep sympathy in her face as she extended a hand to the embarrassed Barbara.

"Don't mind it at all, dear. It is a thing that occurs to all of us frequently. Polished floors are such a nuisance," said Olive.

The other girls had been introduced to Mrs. Presby in the meantime. It was now Bab's turn, but instead of being first, as Olive had intended, she was last. Her face was still flushed and her eyelids drooped as she was presented.

Mrs. Presby pulled the girl's head down between two warm hands and gazed into her eyes, then kissed Barbara full on the lips.

"Never mind, my dear," she said. "You couldn't help it."

"If I could have a good cry, I know I should feel better," was Bab's plaintive rejoinder.

"Richard, come here, please, and shake hands with Miss Thurston," commanded Aunt Jane in a slightly peremptory tone. Mr. Presby did so, but with apparent reluctance. He had had one experience with the brown-haired girl from Kingsbridge.

"My dears, we want you to come to Treasureholme with us. We cannot spare Olive, so you will have to come to us," smiled Mrs. Presby.

"We want you to come out for Christmas," interjected Mr. Presby rather grudgingly, and as if he were reciting a line from memory.

"Before Christmas," nodded Mrs. Presby. "You must come out this week. Sallie, you will come with them. We shall expect Robert also, though I suppose he will be running away to the city all the time."

"I don't know whether Robert will wish to spare the girls or not. He likes to have them with him as much as possible," said Miss Sallie.

"Treasureholme? What a beautiful name!" breathed Barbara.

"And such a romantic name too," added Mollie soulfully. "I could love the place just on account of its name."

"We call the place 'Treasureholme' because it is or has been supposed to hold a lost treasure. But we have given up that idea. We gave it up a long, long time ago. You will come, won't you, girls? This, in all probability, will be our last Christmas in the old home. We wish to make it a bright and joyous occasion," said Mrs. Presby, with a wan smile. "We have planned to have a Christmas tree. Cousin Robert, you and Sallie can have the gifts delivered at our place just as well as at your home here."

"I shall have to leave it all to Robert," answered Miss Sallie. "Robert's business, as you know, is giving him no little concern these days. He may not care to leave it, and I am certain he would not consent to the girls going away at this time unless it were possible for him to spend at least part of the time with them."

"Then I shall talk with Robert myself," announced Mrs. Presby firmly. She did so then and there. Rather, she went directly to Mr. Stuart's own particular sanctum, where Robert and Mr. Presby were then in consultation over business matters. Mr. Stuart did object to the girls going to Treasureholme to spend Christmas. But Mrs. Presby pleaded with him to let them come. She told him that before another Christmas came Treasureholme would be in other hands. She pleaded with Robert Stuart to let nothing stand in the way of helping them all to have a joyous holiday in the old home.

Mr. Stuart finally gave a reluctant consent. Mrs. Presby hurried back to the library to acquaint the girls with his decision. A merry chatter followed. Everyone talked at once, each making suggestions as to what should be worn and how the Christmas holiday should be spent in the country. As for the "Automobile Girls" from Kingsbridge, the idea of going to the country appealed to them strongly. It would seem almost like being home again. It must be confessed that Bab and Mollie now and then suffered the pangs of homesickness, even though they found so little time for their own thoughts.

It was finally decided that they were to leave for Treasureholme, a distance of more than thirty miles from the city, on the following Monday, three days hence. Mrs. Presby consented to Olive remaining with them until that time, and accompanying the girls to the country in Ruth's motor car. That arrangement stood. The guests declined an invitation to remain to dinner and as soon as the two men had finished their business talk, Mr. and Mrs. Presby took their leave.

Two of the following three days were given up to a round of sight-seeing, paying and receiving calls on friends of the Stuarts, during which time the cylinders of Ruth's automobile scarcely had time to grow cold. Mr. A. Bubble was doing his full duty during these happy days.

Sunday was a day of rest. All were ready for the rest, too. The Kingsbridge girls looked a little more pale than usual, but their eyes were bright and sparkling when Monday morning arrived. It was a clear, frosty morning, with a suggestion of snow in the air. Miss Sallie had risen early, in order to have plenty of time to make all arrangements for their trip. She saw to it also that the girls' wardrobes were properly selected for their stay in the country, and suggested that they have the chauffeur drive them out.

"No, indeed," objected Ruth. "I am not wholly a fair-weather driver. I shall have my heavy gloves. Therefore, my hands will be warm and my feet will be so well occupied with working the brake and control that they won't have time to get cold. Girls, you won't have anything to do, so wrap yourselves up. Auntie, I'm going to get out some of father's heavy coats. He won't need them."

"A jolly good idea," agreed Mollie. "Always provided that the master of the house doesn't object," she added, smiling at Mr. Stuart.

"My dear, if you had lived in this house as long as I have, you would understand that it would make little difference if the master of the house did object," interjected Mr. Stuart.

"Oh, dad," chided Ruth. "How can you say such a thing? You know I am your dutiful daughter."

"You suit me," answered Mr. Stuart, giving the protesting Ruth a quick embrace and a kiss on the forehead. "Yes, take anything you can find in the house. But leave the house. I may need it before I get out of the woods."

A shadow flitted across the face of Ruth Stuart. Then she smiled and kissed her father affectionately. A search for coats was made and a thousand and one details attended to. It was well into the afternoon before they were ready to start, Bab wrapped in Mr. Stuart's long fur coat, the other girls in cloth coats, with the exception of Ruth, who wore her own sealskin coat that reached down to her ankles. A fur cap, silk lined and a pair of fur gloves that looked, Barbara said, like the feet of a bear, completed the outfit.

Mr. A. Bubble was grumbling when the girls emerged from the house. Their bags had been strapped on behind. Inside the automobile there were four foot warmers. Bab and Ruth spurned theirs. With many urgings on the part of Mr. Stuart and Aunt Sallie to be careful, Ruth threw in the clutch, advanced the spark and Mr. A. Bubble wheeled himself slowly away from the house, out into the avenue, then launched into a burst of speed that set at defiance all the regulations of the Windy City.

This was to be an eventful visit. It was to be one full of excitement and adventure, a visit that none of the girls ever would be likely to forget.

They rapidly rolled through the city and in a little while were out in the country, where the land flattened down into a rolling prairie, broken here and there by groups of slender trees and farm buildings.

The snow began to sweep past them in flurries shortly after they cleared the city limits. Ruth stopped the automobile and called upon the girls to assist her in putting on the storm curtains. When they had finished the car was entirely enclosed, a heavy curtain taking the place of the wind shield which the driver had turned down at its middle.

"Isn't this comfy?" chirped Mollie.

It did not prove so "comfy" after all, the way Ruth accelerated the speed, sending the car careening ahead at a high rate.

"Olive," said Bab, mustering courage to introduce a subject that was near to her heart.

"Yes, dear."

"Would you—would you think me too personal if I asked you to tell us the story of the buried treasure of Treasureholme?" she asked hesitatingly.

"Not at all."

"Oh, do tell us," urged Mollie and Grace in one voice.

"I've been just dying to hear about it ever since I first learned there was such a place as Treasureholme. Are there real ghosts there?" questioned Mollie.

"No; no ghosts. But there are memories. Listen, girls, and I will tell you all I know about it," said Olive, settling herself to relate the tale that was to prove of such fascinating interest to the "Automobile Girls."

CHAPTER VI

THE WRECK OF MR. A. BUBBLE

"BURIED treasures are such ravishing mysteries," observed Mollie, while Olive was mentally arranging her facts. "I never thought I should actually be face to face with one."

"I am sure it must be a grand old place," volunteered Barbara.

"In reality, it is very big and bare," smiled Olive. "But I love every foot of the old place where I have lived all my life except when I have been away to school and where my ancestors have lived for oh, ever so many years."

Olive's eyes filled with tears. Barbara stole a groping hand under the robe and clasped one of Olive's. The latter pulled herself sharply together. She gave Bab a grateful look. The sympathy in that gentle hand clasp had meant more than words to her. Perhaps in that one brief moment the two girls came to understand each other better than in all the days that had passed since their first meeting at the opera.

"You know we fully expect to be obliged to give up the place at an early day. Father's business affairs have been going from bad to worse, until now there seems to be no hope of our keeping Treasureholme."

"Perhaps it may not be so bad as you imagine," suggested Bab softly. "'Never give up until you have to.' That is my motto."

"You wouldn't be the Barbara I have heard so much about if it weren't. But to come to the story. Treasureholme has been in our family, as I have already said, for many generations. My ancestor who founded the old place was one of the pioneers here. He was rich when he came here, but he foresaw a great future for what is now Chicago, so he brought his family and all his worldly goods here. He said confidently that a great city was certain to spring up here some day. You see how true was his prophecy. It was almost uncanny as I look at it now."

The girls nodded, but said nothing.

"Gracious! Did you see that?" called Ruth, with a trace of excitement in her tone.

"No, no. What is it?" cried the girls.

"Oh, nothing, only I ran down a cow," answered the fair driver, trying to speak carelessly.

"Ran down a cow!" exclaimed Bab, peering through the curtain windows.

"You needn't look for her. She is a mile or more back now. I didn't run over her. She appeared so suddenly out of the snow cloud that I didn't see her until the car was almost on top of her. I must have hit her only a glancing blow, for I barely felt the jar. I hope I didn't hurt the poor thing."

"So long as we keep on four wheels, please don't interrupt us," begged Miss Presby severely, whereat there was a series of giggles from the girls. "Where was I, girls?"

"Still at Chicago," replied Mollie. "You were speaking of your ancestor's prophecy."

"Oh, yes. At the time they were living in the garrison, at the first fort ever built on the Chicago River. You know the Indians were pretty thick hereabouts at that period."

"Indians!" murmured Grace apprehensively.

"Yes. After a time our ancestors built Treasureholme. That is why it is so old-fashioned now, though many changes necessarily have been made in the house since then, but the main part is practically as it was built by my pioneer ancestor. The boards that were used were laboriously sawed out and the timbers hewn by hand. It must have taken years to build the place. Outwardly it now has a more modern appearance, each succeeding ancestor adding and improving. But for a long time after it was built there were Indians and bad men hereabouts. This perhaps accounts for the secret passages and numerous hiding places in the old house."

"Glorious," said Mollie, her eyes dancing.

"One day a message came that the Indians were no longer friendly. My ancestor was warned to hide his valuables and hasten to the fort with his family for the safety afforded there. It is believed that the treasure was buried at that time."

"Money?" asked Barbara.

"Gold and plate and jewels that had been brought from the old country when the family first came to the new world from England. But, alas, the garrison was wiped out by the Indians, leaving not a living person who knew the location of the treasure. Later on other members of the family came here from the east and took possession. The Presbys have been living on the estate ever since."

"Has no attempt been made to find the treasure?" questioned Barbara.

"So many attempts that I couldn't count them. Someone always is nosing about the place for clues. Father has spent a great deal of money in looking for it himself, but I think he has about given up hope of ever finding it. It is my idea that some of the other early members of the family found the hidden treasure, but said nothing about it."

Silence reigned in the automobile for some moments.

"Do you know," said Barbara, breaking the silence, "I think this is an excellent opportunity for the 'Automobile Girls' to distinguish themselves further?"

Olive shook her head smilingly.

"It would be effort wasted. Besides, we shall manage to keep your time so fully occupied that you will have no opportunity to search for buried treasure."

"What about those secret passages that you spoke of?" asked Grace.

"You shall see them and explore them to your hearts' content. Tom will show them to you. What Tom doesn't know about the old place, no one else does. And he knows a lot more about it than any of the rest of the family. I suspect that he has been making investigations on his own hook. He, like the boy he is, still has hopes of discovering the buried treasure."

"Is the gate open?" called Ruth over her shoulder.

"Yes. It hasn't been closed this fall."

"Then I'll drive in in style and make one of my flying stops," answered Ruth. "We'll make them think a train has left the C., B. & Q. track and is going to smash the house down. I think they will be surprised. I'll open up the exhaust just as we get to the house, make a flying stop and the noise will wake up Olive's scalped ancestors."

"Be careful that you don't hit the house in reality," laughed Olive. "Remember it is old. It might tumble down. I don't care so much about the house, but I shouldn't like to see it tumble down on father and mother."

"Oh, it will not be quite as bad as that. We shall simply be making a big noise."

"I was only joking," replied Olive. "You don't think I thought for a minute you would run into the house, do you?"

"That is exactly what I am going to do."

"Ruth Stuart!" exclaimed Bab sternly.

"After I have stopped the car," finished Ruth, with a merry laugh. "But look here, young ladies, if you keep on talking to me and making me laugh, I am likely to pile you all in the ditch right here."

"Can you see the road?"

"Yes. Between snow flurries. I can't miss the road. The turn into the grounds is enclosed in stone fences, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"I'll pick it up all right. You girls look out when I give the word. I am going to make the turn wide and at full speed. Hold fast!" she cried, giving the steering wheel a sharp turn. For one giddy moment Mr. A. Bubble appeared to be uncertain whether to turn turtle or go on the way he was headed. He decided upon the latter course, and settling down on all four wheels shot straight ahead. The light was uncertain, but Ruth's eyes were on the road, all her attention centred on her work. Suddenly she uttered a sharp little cry. The emergency brake went on with a shock. Then came a mighty crash. To the girls in the car in their brief instant of consciousness, it seemed as if the universe were going to pieces.

CHAPTER VII

THE MYSTERY OF THE IRON GATES

INSTEAD of running into the Presby home, as she had laughingly threatened to do, Ruth Stuart had dashed at almost full speed into the closed heavy iron gates at the entrance to the Treasureholme grounds. These gates were supposed to be open. As Olive had said, they had not been closed in some months. Why should they be closed now when the "Automobile Girls" car was looked for to arrive at any moment?

None of the girls was thinking of this at the moment. None was in condition to think at all. Ruth had discovered the obstruction in time to throw on the emergency brake, but not quickly enough to stop the headway of the automobile.

The car crashed against the gates with great force. The heavy iron bars of the gates buckled under the impact, then with a great creaking and rattling the hinges gave way, the old brick columns to which the hinges had been attached crumbled and fell in a cloud of dust and mortar. Accompanying the crash was the sound of breaking glass. But not a cry had been raised from the interior of the car, save Ruth's warning.

That cry of warning had set Barbara instantly on the defensive. She threw both arms about Mollie and Olive. Grace was on the front seat with Ruth. Bab braced her feet with a mighty effort. Then the crash came.

It seemed to Barbara Thurston as though her arms were being torn from their sockets. Then the three girls on the rear seat were jerked to their feet. They toppled over the back of the seat ahead of them, plunging head first into the forward part of the car, where the operating mechanism was located.

Ruth and Grace had been hurled against the storm curtain, securely fastened down between themselves and the glass wind shield. Fortunately for them, the curtain held for a few seconds until the shower of glass from the shield had fallen into the roadway, then the curtain gave way and the two girls tumbled out in the wake of the glass.

The automobile, after the first impact, had recoiled several feet. It essayed to plunge forward again, but the emergency brake held it motionless while the motors began to race, making a noise that was heard in the house, which stood at some distance from the fallen gates.

The "Automobile Girls" lay where they had fallen, Ruth and Grace in the roadway, Bab, Mollie and Olive in the forward end of the car.

"There they come," cried Mrs. Presby. "Why, what a frightful noise," she exclaimed, starting for the door, followed by Mr. Presby, with a painful limp.

Tommy's face turned white when he heard the crash. With a bound he passed his father and mother, tore down the steps and off down the drive.

"Something has happened, Richard," cried Mrs. Presby.

"Something will happen to my gout, too, if I have to remain out in this chill atmosphere," declared Mr. Presby irritably.

"Hurry, hurry!" wailed the distant voice of Tommy.

"Oh, what is it?" cried Mrs. Presby, picking up her skirts and running down the drive.

"They're killed! They're killed!" howled Tommy. "They've smashed into the gates. Everything's done. Finished!"

"Run, Richard! Quick! Get help! An accident has occurred," begged Olive's mother.

The woman was almost beside herself with terror. Tommy's face was ghastly.

"Here's Ruth," he said, almost brusquely, lifting the girl by main strength and staggering toward the house. He bore the burden only a few feet, however, then hastily deposited it on the ground. Ruth was senseless.

A neighbor had witnessed the accident and with rare forethought telephoned for a doctor. By this time a general alarm had been sounded. The old fire bell on Treasureholme had been rung by Mr. Presby as the quickest method of summoning assistance. Neighbors came on the run. They were appalled when they first looked upon the wreck of the old gates. The wreck at first sight appeared to be much worse than it really was. The automobile motors were still racing, the exhaust emitting frequent explosions that sounded like the discharge of a Gatling gun. It was almost as though Mr. A. Bubble were summoning assistance on his own responsibility.

No time was lost, however, in attending to the five girls. Ruth and Grace being nearest at hand, were quickly lifted by strong arms and borne to the house. The three girls still in the automobile were tenderly lifted out and also carried in. Each girl was placed in the room that had been set aside for her. The doctor was on hand almost by the time the girls had been placed on their beds. He made a hasty diagnosis of each case, announced that no bones had been broken and, assisted by Mrs. Presby, administered restoratives to the victims of the accident, who soon recovered consciousness.

No one had thought to send word to Mr. Stuart. The household was too much upset to think of anything save the accident that had occurred.

Grace and Ruth really had the front storm curtain to thank for saving their lives. Had they been hurled through the heavy glass wind shield they undoubtedly would have been killed instantly. Mollie and Olive no doubt were saved by Barbara Thurston's presence of mind. But Barbara by devoting her whole effort to saving her companions had been badly bruised and shaken.

Someone in the meantime had shut off the motors and pushed the car out of the way. The wreckage of the gates was also cleared away at the direction of Mr. Presby, so that no one else should collide with it.

The doctor remained at Treasureholme until nine o'clock in the evening. Before taking his departure, however, he gave strict orders that none of his patients were to be allowed to leave their beds until he called the next morning, and pronounced them able to rise and dress.

Mrs. Presby broke down and cried after she learned that the girls were not seriously injured. Tom went out in the woodshed and wailed so loudly that he was heard in the rooms upstairs. Mr. Presby hobbled about irritably. He did not care to have those in the house know how much affected he really was.

Early the next morning he sent for one of his men. The old gentleman was now in a fine temper. Owing to the excitement caused by the accident, and a particularly painful attack of the gout, he had passed a sleepless night and was therefore in a most unamiable frame of mind.

"Who closed those gates?" roared Mr. Presby the instant the man appeared in the doorway of the dining room, where the master was hobbling back and forth.

"I—I don't know, sir."

"You closed them!" thundered Richard Presby.

"I did not. They were open when I last saw them."

"When was that?"

"About an hour before the accident occurred, I think, sir."

"If you didn't close them, who did? Answer me that."

Of course the man could not answer that question. He made no answer at all, thinking thereby not to further irritate his employer.

"I suppose the gates were closed by some of those rascally treasure hunters that are continually tearing over my premises, digging holes for the unwary to fall into and making general nuisances of themselves in every other way. Drive them off. Pepper them with shot if you can't get rid of them in any other way. I may not be here for long, but while I am here, I'm the master of Treasureholme. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," answered the man humbly, his face reflecting no expression at all.

Mr. Presby thumped back and forth with his cane for nearly an hour after that, despite the fact that every step he took sent excruciating pains through his gouty foot. Finally retiring to the library, he went to sleep in his Morris chair, with the troublesome foot propped up on a stool.

Early in the forenoon Mrs. Presby communicated with Miss Sallie and Mr. Stuart, telling them as much of the details of the accident as was known. Ten minutes later Robert Stuart and Miss Sallie were on their way to Treasureholme as fast as an automobile could carry them. The girls were asleep when they arrived. The doctor, who had arrived in the meantime, would not permit his patients to be disturbed. He assured Mr. Stuart, however, that the girls had providentially escaped with a few slight scratches and bruises and that they would all be up before the end of the day.

But the mystery of the closed gates was disturbing the entire household. It was inexplicable. Mr. Presby declared that it was the work either of his enemies or of some treasure-seeker who thought he was doing the owner a service by closing his gates for him.

Late that afternoon the five girls appeared in the dining room little the worse for their shaking up, although Barbara was far more lame and sore than she would admit. A general season of rejoicing ensued, and several neighbors dropped in to congratulate the girls on their miraculous escape from serious injury.

On seeing her father, Ruth's first question was, "What happened to A. Bubble?"

Mr. Stuart did not know. He promised to find out, which he did an hour or so later. Mr. A. Bubble, he told her, would be sent to a shop for repairs the next day, as he intended going back to Chicago that night and would attend to it. The radiator had been badly bent, the forward axle had buckled, guards were smashed, the hood was damaged, in short, Mr. Bubble presented a most disreputable appearance.

Mr. Stuart told Ruth she was in a certain degree responsible for the accident, still she had no thought that the gates would be closed.

"I'll know enough after this to keep my car under control. I won't try to knock over any more houses and things," Ruth retorted.

By the afternoon of their second day at Treasureholme the "Automobile Girls" had practically gotten over the effects of their accident and were cosily established in Olive's room consuming hot chocolate and cakes while Olive, at their urgent request, again recounted the story of the buried treasure. Now that they were face to face with the great mystery, they were alive with curiosity. They were burning to see with their own eyes the place that held so much of mystery and perhaps a fortune that was probably being trodden over by human feet every hour of the day.

CHAPTER VIII

EXPLORING THE SECRET PASSAGE

"I CERTAINLY do adore this room!" exclaimed Mollie Thurston, with glowing eyes.

The "Automobile Girls" and Olive were sitting in the dining room of old Treasureholme. It was a massive, but cheerful room, the ceiling studded with great beams. A fireplace constructed of boulders of varying shapes and sizes, large enough to take a six-foot log, occupied the greater part of one side of the room. Olive Presby had been telling her guests various anecdotes relating to Treasureholme and as usual the conversation had turned to the tale of the long-lost treasure.

An old-fashioned bookcase, extending all the way across one end of the room, was filled with leather-bound books. Bab regarded them longingly. She made up her mind to browse among these old volumes at the first opportunity.

"Help yourself any time you wish," smiled Olive, who had observed Bab's eager glances at the bookcase. Barbara blushed that her thoughts should have been read so easily.

"Oh, I should love to!" she answered simply.

Mollie cast an apprehensive glance about her.

"Are you sure there are no ghosts in this old place?" she asked.

"Of course not. What made you think of that?" laughed Ruth.

"In all the stories I ever read about buried treasure there was sure to be a ghost to guard it," replied Mollie. "Perhaps Treasureholme has a ghost, too. At any rate, I feel spooky."

"So do I," agreed Grace. "Did you hear that noise?"

"It sounds to me like rats or mice," ventured Barbara. "Of course it is. I know the sound. I hope they don't come out while I am here."

A hush fell over the little party of "Automobile Girls." A gentle scratching that seemed to come from the left side of the fireplace was audible to each of them. As they listened the sound seemed to magnify. A draft through the open door that led into the hallway smote Mollie in the back of the neck. She sprang up, uttering a little cry.

"It's a ghost. I felt it blow on my neck," she cried.

"Nonsense! I'll soon show you the ghost," offered Ruth, starting to her feet. "I know this old place pretty well. May I, Olive?"

Olive nodded smilingly. Ruth stepped to the left side of the fireplace and, grasping a knob that had escaped the observation of the Kingsbridge girls, deliberately pulled out a panel that was in reality a door.

The girls uttered exclamations of amazement. Then they saw something move in the dark recess the door had revealed. It was Tom, sitting in the hole in the wall, with his feet curled up under him. He was grinning sardonically.

"Here's your ghost," announced Ruth, taking firm hold of the irrepressible Tom's collar and assisting him out into the room. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Thomas Presby, frightening young women in that fashion."

"Yes, Tom, I am ashamed of you," rebuked Olive. But Tom was perfectly cheerful and unabashed.

"A secret passage?" gasped Mollie.

"It's a sort of underground passage, built to look like an old-fashioned Dutch oven," explained Olive.

"Per—perhaps the treasure is buried there," suggested Bab scarcely above a whisper.

Tom laughed derisively. Olive smiled tolerantly.

"If it ever was hidden there, it was taken out long, long ago. That passage has been known for some generations, I believe," said Olive.

"How ever did you get in there?" demanded Ruth, a sudden thought occurring to her.

"Find out," grinned Tom.

"There must be another entrance to it, isn't there, Olive?"

"Not that I know of. Is there, Tom?"

"Maybe and maybe not."

"Oh, please tell us. Can't you see we are burning with curiosity?" begged Bab.

"I'll show the place to any girl who's got the sand to go in there with me," answered Tom Presby.

All the girls, except Barbara, drew back. She was regarding the boy questioningly.

"Will you show me?" she asked.

"You bet I will if you've got the nerve."

"Don't trust him," warned the girls.

"I am not afraid of one small boy, especially Tom," answered Bab, with a twinkle in her eyes. "But, Master Tom, if you try to play any tricks on me it will be a sorry day for you. You can't play tricks on the 'Automobile Girls' without getting into trouble, remember. Olive, may I go?"

"Of course, if you wish," smiled Miss Presby. "I have been in there ever so many times, and"—with a blush—"I have dug and dug in there."

The girls laughed merrily, all save Bab, who was thoughtful. The impression was strong with her that somehow this passage was connected directly or indirectly with the secret of the lost treasure.

"Take a light with you. I won't go in in the dark," declared Barbara.

Tom produced a candle and lighted it. Barbara crawled into the dark hole after him. The others crowded about, peering in wonderingly.

"Close the door," commanded Tom.

Barbara pretended to do so, but left a crack through which the light from the dining room filtered faintly.

"Don't you girls dare to fasten the door," she called. "I should die of fright if I thought I was locked in this hole."

"We'll come in by way of the front door," called back Tom, as he began burrowing into the hole. The place was inky black save for the faint light shed by the candle. "Don't be afraid. After we get out from under the house you will be able to stand up."

"Oh! Is the passage so long as that?" gasped Bab. "I—I guess I don't want to go any further. I'll explore with you to-morrow."

"It won't be any lighter in the daytime," reminded the boy. "It's always dark down here." He was getting further and further away from her.

"Thomas Presby, you come right back here," commanded Barbara. "I won't go another step."

"'Fraid cat!" jeered Thomas.

"I'm not!" retorted Bab, starting forward. She knew she could easily find her way back again. She bumped her head against the roof of the passage several times. The place smelled stuffy and mouldy, though the girl realized that a faint current of air was passing through the tunnel. All at once she discovered that the passage had grown larger. She was able to stand up without difficulty. She then made a further discovery. Tom and his light had disappeared.

"Tom! Oh, Tom!" cried Barbara.

There was no answer. The silence was so deep that it made her ears ring. At first the girl was panic stricken, then she reasoned out her situation more calmly. She had only to retrace her steps to return to the dining room. Tom no doubt had eluded her and left the passage through an exit known only to himself. She would show him that she was as good as any boy.

"I'll go straight back," declared Barbara. But somehow the "going back" was not accomplished with the ease that she had hoped for. The way seemed much longer than had been the case when she was on her way in. Bab was peering ahead of her, expecting every moment to catch sight of the light from the dining room. She would have called out to her companions, only she did not want them to know that she was in trouble or that she was afraid.

Barbara had been in the low-ceilinged passage for some time when she came in contact with a solid wall. She gave a glad little exclamation, believing that she had reached the panel that led into the dining room. She had now but to rap and her companions would open the panel. The wind must have blown the panel shut. Barbara put out her hands and began groping for the panel. To her horror, there was no panel there. Her hands found nothing but earth. Some moments had elapsed when Barbara Thurston realized that she was in a predicament.

"I am lost!" she groaned. "Oh, what shall I do?"

The girl decided to call for assistance. There seemed to be no other way. She raised her voice and shouted, but, to her amazement, the shout was merely a feeble call that could not have been heard many feet away. The low walls deadened the sound of her voice.

A little investigation convinced her that she had strayed into a short blind passage. Having made this discovery, she began creeping back, hugging the right-hand wall of the passage, believing that the main passage must begin on the right-hand side. In this she was correct.

Barbara had proceeded but a short distance before she found the junction of the two passages. She had not observed this shorter passage when following Tom, and no doubt he had known that she would be almost sure to lose her way, just as she had done. But there was no Tom present on whom to vent her displeasure. Neither was Barbara yet out of the tunnel. For all she knew she might be in a wholly new passage. Before going ahead she sat down to think over her situation carefully.

"No, I can't be mistaken. I must be right. But I ought to see the light from the dining room from this point. However, I will go on and trust to luck."

Barbara started on at once, though she took no chance of losing herself. Every foot of the walls on either side was carefully groped over by her hands as she made her way. The earth felt cold and damp. To touch it made her shiver. But Barbara was plucky. She continued bravely on.

"Oh, there's the light," she cried. "I'll call to let them know I am coming. No, I won't. I'll give them a scare. Lucky for me that I kept my head. I might have been lost in that short passage and never found again. How terrible. But an 'Automobile Girl' never gives up. I hear voices. The girls must be wondering what has become of me. I think I hear Tom in the dining room. I wonder what I had better do to punish him for the trick he played on me? I shall have to think it over. I——

"Gracious! What would I do if the girls should happen to have company in the old dining room? I shouldn't dare to come out, for I know I must look a fright." Bab soon reached the panel, which was still as she had left it upon entering the passage. Then as she craned her neck forward and peered into the dining room she uttered a smothered exclamation.

Mr. and Mrs. Presby were sitting facing the fire, talking. The girl in the passage drew back as she saw Mr. Presby's eye fixed upon the panel. He appeared to be looking straight at her. A moment more and she was convinced that he was not.

Bab was in a quandary. She dared not show herself. What would they think of her, their daughter's guest, were she to be seen crawling from a hole in the wall? Her first meeting with Mr. Presby had been unfortunate enough. He surely would not forgive her for this exploit. Then the humor of the situation dawned upon her. Bab stuffed her handkerchief into her mouth so that they might not hear her giggles.

All at once she ceased laughing and sat up very straight.

"Nathan Bonner called on me at my office to-day. It was of that that I wished to speak with you, and that is why I asked the girls to leave the room." Mr. Presby was speaking.

"Did he wish to help you?"

"He intimated something of the sort. What he did want was permission to call on Olive."

"Oh!" The exclamation escaped Mrs. Presby unwittingly.

"And you told him——?"

"No. Not with my permission. Bonner is a very rich man, Jane—and an unscrupulous one I am informed. I know little more about him, except that he has come to be an important figure on the Board of Trade. His rise has been phenomenal. I don't care for the man, however. I do not consider him the sort of man that Olive would like."

"You wish me to speak with her upon the subject?" asked Aunt Jane.

"No!" The word came out with explosive force. "The incident is closed. I am not so base as to consider for a moment the idea of my daughter making a rich alliance some day for the sake of retrieving our financial affairs. I am simply confiding the facts to you, that you may be governed accordingly."

Jane Presby rose, and, going over to her husband, kissed him tenderly on the forehead.

"You are a noble man, Richard."

"Has it taken you all these years to find that out?" retorted Mr. Presby testily.

"I have always known it," answered Mrs. Presby simply.

"What do you know about this Jack Howard's attentions to Olive?" he demanded sharply.

"They are childhood friends. Olive is still our baby, Richard. She has no thought of leaving us, I am sure. At least not in a long, long time."

Barbara, realizing that she was listening to a family conference, had suddenly shrunk back further into the corridor. She still could hear their voices. She retired further into the passage. Now their voices reached her ears in a confused murmur. The girl crouched down, waiting. The words of Mr. Presby had not made a very great impression on her, except that he had objected to one Nathan Bonner calling on his daughter. Who Nathan Bonner was Bab did not know.

Words, clear and distinct, spoken by Richard Presby, now reached Barbara plainly. He was speaking of another matter, one that was near to the heart of the "Automobile Girl" crouching there in the secret passage of the old mansion. Barbara's face blanched as she heard and understood what Mr. Presby was saying. She was powerless to shut her ears to the words. Mr. Presby's further remarks were brief. He rose and stamped from the room, followed a few seconds later by his wife.

Barbara crept forward to the panel, peered out cautiously to make sure that there was no one there, then, throwing wide the panel, stepped into the dining room, and, gathering her skirts about her, fled to her room on the next floor. She could hear the girls laughing and talking in Olive Presby's room.

Reaching her bedroom, Barbara Thurston threw herself on the bed, and sobbed as though her heart would break.

CHAPTER IX

IN AN INDIAN GRAVEYARD

IT was Olive who found Bab there. She halted in the doorway, gazing in in amazement.

"Why, Barbara Thurston! What can be the matter with you?" cried Olive. "We thought you were exploring the secret passages under the old house, and here you are crying all by your lonely little self. Where is Tom?" demanded Miss Presby, with growing suspicion in her eyes.

"I—I don't know," confessed Barbara weakly.

"See here, Bab, did Tom play any tricks on you?"

"Nothing of any account. He went out by some other exit. I returned the way I came. I am going back there to-morrow, if you do not object. I must solve the mystery of that secret passage."

"You are a dear!" exclaimed Olive, kissing Bab affectionately.

At this juncture Ruth Stuart came in, having heard Bab's voice as she was passing through the hall.

"Bab! When did you get back?" exclaimed Ruth. "Oh, I beg your pardon," she added, laughingly, as she discovered Olive and Bab engaged in serious conversation. "I see I am intruding."

"Come in, Ruth," answered Olive. "I found Bab crying here. I think Tom must have played pranks on her. Wait until I get my hands on the young man. You say you haven't seen him since you left the passage, Barbara?"

Bab shook her head.

"I shall find him at once," announced Olive, rising and starting for the door.

"Please, please don't scold him," begged Bab. "Really, it isn't that that is the matter with me." But Olive insisted and went on her way in search of the irrepressible Tommy. Ruth stepped over and sat on the edge of the bed, gazing down at Barbara.

"Now, tell me all about it," urged Ruth gently.

"There—there isn't anything to tell," murmured Bab.

"I know what the trouble is. You are homesick," declared Ruth Stuart. "To-morrow we have planned to give you an interesting day. We are going to explore the old place and I am going to take you to the Indian Cemetery. Quite likely some of the same gentlemen who scalped Olive's ancestors are buried out there. Bab, do you love me just the same as you used to?" asked the girl, bending a questioning gaze on Barbara's tear-stained face.

"You ought not to ask me that question, dear," answered Bab. "You know I do. It seems to me that I have known you for ever and ever so many years. Perhaps our friendship began in some other life. Sometimes I think it must have. But you haven't acted quite the same of late. It has seemed to me that you didn't love me as dearly as you used to and the thought has hurt me, oh, so much, Ruth."

"Why, Bab Thurston, how can you say so?" exclaimed Ruth. "I love you better than any other girl I've ever known. You ought to know that. The truth of the matter is that I am worried, dear. I have not been quite myself of late. I'm worried about father. Was—was it that that made you cry, dear?"

"Not exactly. I was crying because—because I felt sorry for you and—and for——"

"For whom?"

Barbara shook her head and closed her lips firmly.

"I shan't say another word. Please don't ask me. I want to think. If you don't mind, I am going to bed. Must I go downstairs first?"

"No, child. You tumble right in. I will tell the folks you are not feeling quite well. I want to speak to Olive before I go to bed, anyway."

"Tell them that I am going to bed, please."

"Yes."

"Please also say good night to Mr. and Mrs. Presby for me, won't you?"

Ruth said she would do so, and hurried from the room. She stopped in Olive's room to tell the other "Automobile Girls" not to disturb Bab, who had gone to bed feeling a little indisposed.

On the following morning matters appeared to have adjusted themselves to the satisfaction of all, for the girls were in their brightest mood. Bab now and then grew sober and thoughtful, but strove to throw off the feeling of depression that persisted in taking possession of her.

"I have a note from father," announced Ruth. "He says Mr. A. Bubble has entirely recovered. There were some broken bones, but these have been mended. Bubble is to be returned to us to-day, and then we will have a jolly ride."

"I sincerely trust there will be no gates in the way this time," observed Mrs. Presby, smilingly.

"Never fear. I have had my lesson," answered Ruth, flushing a little. "I never thought it would be possible for me to get into so much trouble with a motor car. Shall we show the girls the Indian burying ground this morning?"

"You take them, Ruth, if you will, please," answered Olive. "I must help mother with some family matters. You know more about the old cemetery than I do."

They started out shortly after breakfast, full of keen anticipation. Just outside the house Tom joined them. He had with him Olive's big setter dog, "General." Bab pinched Tommy's ear playfully.

"You were a naughty boy last night," she said.

"But you didn't find out where I got out, just the same," jeered Tom.

"No, but I am going to."

"I'll bet you don't."

"I shall. See if I don't. By the way, Tom, have they found out yet who closed those gates the night we ran into them?" asked Barbara carelessly. She and Tom had fallen behind the others.

"No-o-o-o," answered the boy, giving her a quick glance. Bab's face told him nothing.

"I suppose you haven't the slightest idea who could have done that?"

"How should I know anything about it?"

"I thought perhaps you might have done it; you are such a very smart young man," observed Barbara soberly. "Couldn't you even guess?"

"No. Could you?"

"I don't have to guess."

Tommy regarded her shrewdly.

"What do you mean?"

"I don't have to guess because I know. You closed those gates, Tom Presby. You thought it would be a good joke to fool Olive and Ruth and the rest of us. I'm not sure but that you thought you would be taking a proper revenge on poor me for sitting down on you that night at Stuarts' house. You came near causing the death of five girls with what you thought only a prank, young man," added Bab, in her most severe tone. "I should think you would be ashamed of yourself."

Tommy's face grew very pale. Beads of perspiration broke out on his forehead.

"Don't tell father. Don't, please don't. He'd skin me alive if he knew I did that. How'd you find out?"

"You told me," answered Bab, now with a merry twinkle in her eyes. "I guessed it first, then you admitted it just now."

"That was a mean trick. Nobody but a girl would take such a mean advantage of a fellow."

"Nobody but a mischievous boy would intentionally cause an automobile smash-up and endanger the lives of five girls, including his sister," rebuked Barbara. "What do you think I ought to do with you?"

"You aren't going to tell the governor? Oh, don't say you are. I'll do anything for you! Say, I like you better than all the rest, Bab. Honest and true I do. I'll show you how I got out of the hole last night if you won't give it away. I'll show you everything I know about the old place. You aren't going to squeal on a fellow, are you?"

"No, Tom, I'm not," answered Bab, laughing heartily. "Nor am I going to ask you to show me the exit from the secret passage. If I can't find it out for myself, I don't want to know."

Tommy regarded her admiringly.

"Say, you're a good sport, aren't you? I'll show you anyhow, for that."

About this time the setter dog, General, attracted the attention of the girls by diving into a hole in the base of a great tree that stood some little distance from the house. Nothing but his tail was visible. Tom soon had a firm grip on this and was hauling the angry General out to the accompaniment of merry shouts from the girls.

Ruth explained that this tree was an old landmark. It had been there ever since the oldest inhabitant could remember. It was known as "Old Sentinel," having stood sentinel over Treasureholme for at least a hundred years.

"What is in that hole?" demanded Bab.

"General's buried treasure," answered Tom carelessly. "He hides his beef bones there."

Now they moved on together, making an attractive picture as they walked. Grace and Ruth were the only ones of the party who wore furs. Mollie wore her heavy dark-blue traveling coat, with a gentian-blue scarf tied about her throat. Bab, with a scarlet wing perched at a jaunty angle in her brown cloth hat, reminded one of a robin redbreast.

"You don't think you will catch cold?" asked Ruth solicitiously.

Bab assured her that they would not, to which Ruth made no reply, though she hugged a dark Christmas secret closer to her heart and chuckled inwardly.

"There is the old burying ground," she announced finally, pointing to a succession of hillocks a short distance ahead of them. These were of a mushroom shape, with the tops sloping gently to the ground. The girls thought them the most curious-looking graves they ever had seen. They observed a very large mound in the centre. Ruth explained that this was supposed to be the grave of an Indian chief.

"If that is true, his weapons and his faithful dog are buried beside him," continued Ruth. "These graves, I believe, are very old. No one appears to know just how old they are. Do you wish to see the rest of them?"

The girls did. Mollie suggested that perhaps if they remained there long enough they might possibly meet the ghost of the old chief.

"What would you do if we should?" questioned Ruth whimsically.

"I'd run," answered Mollie promptly.

"I rather think the rest of us would not be slow in following you," agreed Ruth.

"I should think the Presbys would feel spooky all the time with so many queer things about them," observed Grace. "There's mystery all over the old house, and there are goodness knows how many dead Indians and things on the outside."

"Only girls are afraid," spoke up Tommy.

"Only girls?" questioned Bab, with a significant glance at the boy. Tommy subsided instantly. Then all of a sudden General stiffened his tail, uttered a low, menacing growl and stood pointing his nose in the direction of a mound that reached higher than any of the others.

"What is it, General?" asked Ruth, gazing in the direction of the point.

"He smells somebody," volunteered Tommy. "Don't be afraid. I'm here," he added, swelling out his chest.

"It's a man!" cried Mollie. "He's there hiding behind that mound. I saw him peer over the top just now. Oh, let's run. Hurry, girls!"

Tommy cast a withering look at Mollie and, whistling to the dog to follow him, trudged toward the mound in question. Bab promptly followed him, with Ruth not far behind her.

CHAPTER X

MEETING A TREASURE HUNTER

GENERAL made a leap over the high mound. There came a growl, then a sharp bark.

"Down, General!" commanded a manly voice.

A young man wearing rough clothes and a broad-brimmed soft hat, from under which looked out a pleasant face, appeared, facing the girls.

"I beg your pardon," he said. "I thought perhaps you might not see me. You are from the house yonder. I know Miss Stuart by sight and the General and myself are old friends."

The young man stuffed some papers into his pockets. As yet none of the party had spoken.

"Hello, Bob. Is that you?" greeted Tommy.

"Yes. You caught me this time."

"You bet I did!"

"Won't you introduce me to your friends, so I may apologize to them for my peculiar actions?"

"Oh, they're only girls," answered Tom airily. "What are you doing here?"

"I am Robert Stevens, young ladies. I live near by. The Presbys are friends of mine."

The girls were beginning to feel more at ease. He was not a desperate character, after all. Their adventure had ended in nothing more than meeting a friendly neighbor. Ruth stepped forward at this juncture.

"I am on a treasure hunt," said Stevens, smiling sheepishly.

The girls were on the alert on the instant.

"Treasure hunting!" exclaimed Barbara. "Where are your pick and shovel?"

"Oh, I haven't gotten that far yet," laughed Bob.

The girls decided that they liked Mr. Bob Stevens, and what was more, they were keenly interested in his statement that he was hunting for the lost treasure.

"I may as well be frank with you," he said, flushing. "Ever since I was Tommy's age I have hoped to find some day the fabled pot of gold, or whatever the treasure may be. My grandfather before he died gave me maps and diagrams that he had made. He was as mad on the subject of the buried treasure as the rest of us," explained Stevens. "It was his idea that it would be found not far from the lake. He thought the Presbys had naturally planned to return by water for the treasure in case they had to flee from the fort. I have worked the ground near the lake thoroughly. Now I am trying this strip of woods, working out from these Indian mounds."

"Is the trail hot or cold?" questioned Bab.

"Very cold. Almost colder than the atmosphere to-day. Still, I have hopes."

"If you were to find the treasure what would you do with it?" demanded Ruth severely.

"Do with it? Why, I should turn it over to its rightful owner," answered Stevens. "It's the sport of the search that interests me. You did not think I would keep what doesn't belong to me, did you?"

The girls murmured their apologies.

"Please tell Mr. Presby that you found me here. Perhaps I had better go back with you. May I?"

"Come along, Bob. Father will be glad to see you," said Tom, answering for them. The girls offered no objections, so the young man accompanied them, walking beside Tommy and General.

"You young ladies might be interested in looking over those old maps and diagrams," suggested their new acquaintance.

"Indeed we would," agreed Barbara enthusiastically.

"Another thing I'd like to say, if you will permit me. Were I in your place, I wouldn't go into the woods back there alone. There are people hanging about this estate who are little better than tramps."

"What do you mean?" asked Grace.

"The news has been circulated that the Presbys are going to lose the old place. There are a choice lot of gentlemen nosing about here hoping to get a clue to the treasure before another owner takes charge. I heard yesterday that some fellow from the city is planning to put men to work here systematically. I don't know how true it is."

"They wouldn't dare to dig for treasure on another man's property," retorted Ruth indignantly.

"They wouldn't have to dig until they had located the treasure. Then they might dig it up in the night and be off before anyone else was the wiser."

"I don't believe there is any danger in our going where we please about these grounds. I have been here a good many times, Mr. Stevens, and you are the first stranger I have ever met on the grounds," declared Ruth.

"There are two men back there in the woods now," answered Bob carelessly.

The girls stopped short and stood gazing at the forest that lay beyond the Indian burying ground.

"Are you sure of that?"

Stevens nodded.

"I saw them," he replied, "watching you all the time you were coming toward the mounds. I was watching them, though they didn't know that."

"Why don't you speak to Mr. Presby and have him put them off the premises?" demanded Barbara.

"It wouldn't do any good. The fellows would take good care to keep off the place while a search was being made for them. There's Miss Olive waiting for you."

"Oh, how do you do, Mr. Stevens? I am glad you are with the girls," said Olive. "Father was disturbed when he found they had gone over to the Indian mounds alone. He said it wasn't safe to do that. Have you met my friends, Mr. Stevens?"

"In a somewhat unceremonious fashion," laughed Stevens.

"Father wants to see you. I'll venture that I can guess how you chanced to meet the girls," smiled Olive. "Now confess that you were treasure hunting."

"I confess. Where may I find your father?"

"In the library. Go right in."

Bob Stevens promised the girls that he would show them his diagrams after he had finished his conference with Mr. Presby. Then, raising his hat to them, he set off toward the house. Mr. and Mrs. Presby were fond of Robert Stevens. He was of good family, and well educated for a country boy. His people were comfortably situated and Robert's ambition was to help his friends, the Presbys, find the treasure that he never had doubted was hidden somewhere on the estate.

But the girls did not see him again that day. Ruth's motor car had arrived by the time they reached the house. The girls ate a hurried luncheon and set off for a long ride before the two men had finished their conference. It was almost dinner time when they returned with rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes, greatly invigorated after their drive. A. Bubble had behaved himself splendidly. Ruth said he worked much better than before the accident. Bab suggested that it might be an excellent idea to have him collide with a pair of stout iron gates at regular intervals.

Bob Stevens had left his maps and diagrams for the girls to look over, which they did after dinner. They were unable to make anything out of the lines and figures of the treasure hunter. Mollie declared that the man who made them must surely have been insane.

For an hour after dinner the Presbys and their guests chatted in what was called the drawing room, a long, low, barn-like apartment, almost rustic in its fittings and furnishings. The dining room being cleared, Olive called the girls there. They found the room in darkness save for the light shed by the fire in the fireplace and five candles arranged on the sideboard.

"One for each girl present," explained Olive.

"To light us to bed?" questioned Mollie.

"No, indeed," smiled Olive. "Bedtime is still a long way off. We are going to have a feast by candle light."

"I couldn't eat another mouthful after the dinner we had to-night. It would be a physical impossibility," declared Bab.

"Don't make any rash assertions until you see what I have provided for you in the way of a feast," replied Olive, as she took a large, flat tin box from the lower compartment of the old-fashioned sideboard. "Ruth," she continued, "if you will draw the rugs up close to the fireplace we will lose no time in beginning the festivities."

Ruth Stuart did so, arranging the rugs in a semi-circle. But the interest of the girls was centred on the tin box, not on the rugs, just at that time. Then Olive brought out five long, slender white sticks, which she distributed among the girls.

"Aren't you going to open the box?" begged Grace anxiously. "Can't you see we are dying with curiosity to know what is inside?"

"Bab, you may open the box."

The cover was off almost before the words had left Olive's lips.

"Marshmallows!" cried the girls in chorus. "Oh, isn't that simply glorious?"

"And such a lot of them, too," added Grace Carter.

"Five pounds," Olive informed them. "We are about to sit down to a marshmallow toast. Eat all you wish, but for goodness sake do not make yourselves sick."

"She means you, Mollie," teased Ruth.

"The coat doesn't fit me, however," retorted Mollie. "But I do love marshmallows. Do we toast them over the flames of the candles?"

"No," replied Olive, as she placed the five-pound box of sweets on the rug between them and the fire. The girls sat down on the rug, with their feet curled under them. Each speared a marshmallow and thrust it close to the fire. Little blue flames rose from the white cubes and a tantalizing odor filled the air.

"Oh, dear me. Mine's gone into the fire," cried Mollie in distress. "It just melted away."

"So did mine," answered Barbara, "but it melted in my mouth."

"How nice of you to think of this, Olive. Thank you ever so much," glowed Grace Carter.

"This isn't my treat. My part is to carry out the little surprise. Mr. Stuart sent out the marshmallows to me, asking me to give you girls a toast. It is a real treat, isn't it?"

"Glorious!" breathed the girls.

"Did you children ever do fire-gazing?" asked Olive after a moment of silence as the girls helped themselves to the sweets.

The "Automobile Girls" confessed their ignorance of the game. Olive explained that each girl was to gaze into the fire then describe what forms or figures appeared to grow out of the flames or coals.

"I see a red automobile," cried Mollie, almost as soon as she had fixed her gaze on the fire. "And, oh, look at the man driving it! He is all in red, wears a pointed beard and has a cloven foot. Isn't he a frightful looking creature?"

"Your imagination needs no encouragement," declared Olive. "Let us hope that the gentleman with the cloven foot may drive his car up the chimney flue and fly away. What do you see, Ruth?"

"I see a fiery pit with a lot of imps dancing about, hurling balls of fire at each other."

"Your turn, Barbara."

Bab was gazing at the fire in wrapt attention.

"I see a black chest, but I can't see what it holds, for the cover is down. There goes the cover! Oh, look, girls! See the gold and the sparkling jewels! See the golden coins glitter in the light of the fire! Oh, oh, oh!"

"Money? Money? Where?" cried Mollie. "I want some of that money."

The spell was broken in a merry laugh. Mollie laughed, too, then turned her gaze toward the window, for her eyes were smarting from the heat. Suddenly her face took on a frightened expression, the color fading from it.

"Look! Oh, look!" she gasped, scarcely above a whisper.

What they saw made the "Automobile Girls'" faces turn white with fear.

CHAPTER XI

GIVING AN ATTIC PARTY

PEERING in at them was a hideous yellow face with a nose that in the light from the room seemed to be fiery red. The face was pressed against the window pane. Now a long-drawn, dismal groan sounded from the other side of the window.

"It's a ghost!" cried Grace.

Barbara, however, had seen more than the other girls, and, mustering up all her courage, ran to the door.

"Come back!" called the girls anxiously. Bab kept on, unheeding their cries. As she jerked the outside door open, they heard a crash and the frightful face suddenly disappeared from the window. Ruth and Olive rushed to the door. Both girls remembered that an old rain barrel had stood under that window for a long time.

"I've got the spook!" shouted Bab triumphantly. "I picked it out of the rain barrel." She came in, dragging by an ear the irrepressible Tom.

"Thomas Warrington Presby, what does this mean?" demanded Olive sternly.

"The—the rain barrel went to pieces," complained Tom.

"Oh! Was it you who scared us out of our wits?" questioned Mollie.

"I knew it was a false face almost the instant I saw it," said Barbara. "Thomas, I fear I shall have to turn you over to your father. You have evidently forgotten some things."

Tom wriggled, his face worked anxiously.

"Please don't. Maul me, do anything you want to punish me. I won't squeal, but don't peach to father."

"Girls, what shall we do with him?" asked Bab.

"I move we make him sit down on the rug and eat marshmallows," suggested Ruth.

"The very idea," agreed Mollie.

"But we want them ourselves," objected Grace.

"I have another box," admitted Olive. "Your father sent two boxes, though I did not intend to tell you about the second one just yet."

It was agreed that Tom's punishment should be a sweet one. Tom grinned broadly.

"Those things are for girls. I can swallow a boxful without winking an eyelid," he declared. "Gimme the box."

"No, Thomas, you aren't going to eat them that way. We are going to wait on you and help you to every mouthful," answered Barbara sweetly. "It isn't every boy who has five nice girls to wait on him when he eats. Is it, Tommy?"

"No," answered the boy in a doubtful tone. He did not exactly like the look of things now. Barbara placed a firm hand on his arm and set him down on a rug in front of the fireplace. Tommy was closer to the fire than was comfortable, but there seemed to be no escape for him. The five girls speared as many marshmallows, toasted them and thrust them flaming at the boy. Tommy gulped down the first one with evident enjoyment. Four others went down easily. Tommy decided that marshmallows were pretty good stuff. He called for more, and got them. There was always a stick with a flaming cube on the end of it ready to be thrust into his mouth. Tommy rolled his eyes with satisfaction.

"I could take punishment like this for a week at a stretch. More!"

Still the girls fed him. Even Olive was gentle and considerate. Tommy did not recall ever having seen her more so. All the girls were very kind to him, but there was a mischievous twinkle in their eyes that Tommy was not astute enough to read.

"I've Got the Spook," Shouted Bab Triumphantly.

After a time the marshmallows began to take on a bitter taste. He did not appear to be eating them with the same relish as before.

"That stuff's no good for men," he jeered.

"Have another, Tommy," answered Bab, thrusting a blue flame into the boy's face.

"You needn't burn a fellow up," he rebuked, then swallowed the marshmallow with a gulp.

"Here, Tommy, is a nice, large one," added Mollie.

Tom's eyes were rolling. His face that had appeared very red when he first sat down before the fire, had grown several shades paler. The girls continued to feed him with marshmallows, forcing one after another upon him.

"I won't take another——" Tom did not finish what he had started to say. Olive thrust a hot marshmallow into the boy's open mouth. Tommy closed his mouth instantly, but not soon enough. The hot sweet clung to the roof of his mouth, bringing from Tommy a yell of pain.

"I'll be even with you girls for this," he howled, the tears starting from his eyes as he bounded for the kitchen for a drink of water. A shout of merry laughter followed him. Tommy felt very sick and staggered off to bed, where, half an hour later, his mother found him groaning. In response to Mrs. Presby's anxious inquiries, Tommy explained that he had an "awful stomachache."

"He deserved it," declared Olive. "He will learn to let us girls alone, I hope. Nevertheless, we got even with him this time."

"Yes, revenge is sweet," observed Bab, whereat the girls groaned dismally.

It had been decided that the "Automobile Girls" and Olive were to drive into Chicago on the following morning to bring Miss Sallie and Mr. Stuart also to Treasureholme, if he could be induced to return with them. Ruth felt too that Mr. A. Bubble had not been getting enough exercise of late. Her companions agreed with her. But the next morning dawned most disappointingly. A great gale was blowing in from Lake Michigan, accompanied by blinding flurries of snow. It was not a cheerful outlook. The day was dark and the wind bitter cold.

Ruth was for starting out just the same, but a telephone call from Miss Sallie while the girls were at breakfast was to the effect that Mr. Stuart had absolutely forbidden their starting out in such a storm.

"I am sorry, girls, but when dad puts it that way he means what he says. I speak from long experience," declared Ruth. "We shall have to wait until to-morrow."

"This storm is likely to last for some days," announced Mr. Presby.

Ruth made a wry face.

"We will explore for the treasure if we have to stay in the house all the time," said Bab. "A day like this makes one feel mysterious."

"And creepy," added Mollie. "Why, good morning, Tommy. How are you to-day?" she smiled, as Master Thomas Presby took his place at the breakfast table. Tommy grunted out some unintelligible reply. For some reason he was not in the best of humor that morning.

In the meantime Olive was trying to think up some entertainment that would amuse the girls on a stormy day.

"I have it," she cried. "How would you girls like an attic party?"

They did not quite understand, never having heard of an attic party.

"What do we do at an attic party?" asked Mollie. "Do we have luncheon in the attic?"

"No. It is an entirely new idea with me. My idea is that we go to the attic and rummage. There are old chests and trunks up there, together with all sorts of odds and ends, as is usual with a family garret."

The girls beamed on her.

"That will be perfectly splendid," cried Mollie. "Remember, Bab, how we used to rummage in our garret on rainy days?"

"It will be a great fun," answered Bab.

"As we fear we may have to leave the old place," continued Olive, "we wish to overhaul everything up there, burning such stuff as we have no use for, saving anything that may be of use in the future. You girls can help me clear out the place."

"Am I in on this game?" interrupted Tom.

"Yes, if you will behave yourself," replied Olive, giving him a severe look.

"I can carry out the stuff that you want burned," he suggested.

Such willingness on the part of Tommy was unusual. Olive gave him a smile of approval.

"You shall have some more marshmallows for that," declared Ruth.

A pained look appeared on the boy's face.

"I don't want any marshmallows," he growled. "No more girls' food for me."

The "Automobile Girls" giggled. Mr. and Mrs. Presby paid no attention to this conversation. They were not in possession of the secret. The girls were eager for the attic party. There is always an element of mystery in an old family garret. This was especially so at Treasureholme. Everything about the old place savored of mystery. Then there was the buried treasure, which, even though it might be a myth, lent an atmosphere of greater mystery than all the rest.

Little time was lost in getting to the garret, the girls first, however, putting on the oldest skirts they possessed. Olive explained that the place was full of dust and cobwebs.

Tom hurried upstairs ahead of them. They followed a winding, narrow stairway to the upper floor. To their surprise, the ceiling was high, the side walls were heavily wainscoted, an unusual condition for a garret. A broad chimney passing up through the centre of the big room took the edge off the chill atmosphere of the morning, although they could hear the wind whistle and wail about the gables. There were shadowy corners holding old-fashioned trunks. Here and there were old family pictures in faded, chipped frames, old clothes, curtains, books, broken and old-fashioned furniture, in short, a varied and ancient collection of odds and ends that almost filled the place.

"Oh, girls, isn't this jolly!" exclaimed Bab, halting at the head of the stairs, taking in the scene eagerly. "I know we shall have a perfectly splendid time up here, and who knows but that we may unearth some of your ancestors' family skeletons, Olive?"

"Tom will dispose of them promptly if you find any," answered Olive.

"I'll make their old bones rattle. You just watch me," announced Tom.

"Now, girls, go ahead and browse to your heart's content. We are going to empty every trunk and chest and box in the place. We may find something exciting before we get through up here."

Olive's prophecy was a true one. They were going to meet with exciting experiences in the old garret, even more exciting than any of them had dreamed possible. They began eagerly to turn out the contents of trunks and boxes upon the garret floor, first dragging the receptacles up where the light from one or another of the windows would shine down on their work.

CHAPTER XII

A CURIOUS OLD JOURNAL

"OH, here's a bundle of letters, ever and ever so old!" called Grace. Hers was the first find of interest, "Wouldn't it be splendid if I had unearthed an old romance?"

"Give them to Olive," suggested Bab. "We have no right to read them."

Grace promptly handed the packet to Olive, who turned them over reflectively.

"The writers of these have been dead for many, many years. There can be no harm in our reading the letters. However, let's defer that pleasure until another time. Here, Tom, you might carry out those old clothes. They are so moth-eaten that they are likely to fall apart before you can get them outside." Tom reluctantly gathered up an armful and went stamping down the garret stairs.

Old clothes, trinkets, some of them of value, recipes for cooking, written on the fly leaves of books and on scraps of paper, a varied assortment of everything, including early photographs of forgotten persons, were discovered. Everything was assorted and placed in piles for future disposal. The girls' faces and hands were covered with dust long before they had gone through the contents of the first few trunks.

Nothing of unusual interest had been discovered after something more than an hour's rummaging. Tom had made so many trips to the back yard with rubbish that he was tired. Finally he rebelled, declaring that he wouldn't tramp up and down those stairs again for the whole of Treasureholme.

Ruth found a chest of books in very old bindings. She called Bab over.

"Here, dear. You are simply crazy over old books. Here are some that will keep you busy for the rest of the morning."

Bab ran over, and with a little chuckle of delight dropped down on her knees in front of the open chest. She lifted out the ancient bindings almost reverently, ran the pages through her fingers, pausing here and there to read a line or a page, or a faded notation in pencil, then carefully piled the books by the side of the chest. She was so wholly absorbed in the contents of the chest that she failed to hear the lively chatter going on about her.

About half way down in the chest she found a thin, leather-covered volume, showing indications of long usage and much thumbing. On the front page she read, "Journal of T. W. P."

"Olive, who was 'T. W. P.'?"

"'T. W. P.'? Why that's Tom's initials. Wait! Did you find that in one of those old books?"

Bab nodded.

"Then it must refer to Thomas Warrington Presby. He is the gentleman who is supposed to have been scalped by the Indians, the man who buried the treasure that we have had all the fuss and excitement about. What is the book?"

"It is his journal. His diary, I think we would call it. May I read it?"

"Of course. I hope you may find something interesting in it."

The reading of the diary was not easy. The ink was faded and the writing was so peculiar that Bab deciphered it with some difficulty. Bab curled up on a pile of old clothes under a window and buried her nose in the old diary. She found it fascinating to read the diary of the man who actually buried the treasure that had made the name of Treasureholme well known in all that part of the country.

The entries in the diary dealt with the routine affairs of the life of the owner. Then there were other and more absorbing passages. One that made the girl's pulses quicken was the following:

"Rumors of Indian troubles are afloat. Jake was wounded by an arrow to-day, shot from somewhere in the forest back of the house. But no Indians were seen. We shall soon have to seek safety in the fort, I fear. What to do with my worldly goods when we go is the question that is troubling me now."

"Oh!" breathed Barbara.

"Does it blow hot or cold?" questioned Olive.

"It seems to be getting warm," replied Bab. "He is talking about the treasure."

"What?" The girls were on their feet in an instant. Barbara read the entry to them.

"Oh, fiddle!" sniffed Mollie. "That doesn't amount to anything. Don't arouse my curiosity again unless you have something worth while."

Barbara considered that she had found something worth while, but she made no comment on Mollie's remark. Instead, the girl returned to her perusal of the old diary, reading each page carefully, not knowing when a word or a sentence might give a clue to the mystery all were seeking to solve. The girls went on with their rummaging and their lively chatter. Tom had gone to sleep on a heap of bed spreads that were yellow with age. The ghosts of the past did not trouble this healthy young country boy. Mollie crouched down beside him, gently tickling his ear with a feather that she had found in a trunk. Mollie nearly exploded with merriment to see Tommy fight an imaginary fly in his sleep. The other girls were soon attracted to the game, though Barbara was entirely oblivious of what was going on. The girls gathered noiselessly about Mollie and Tom, shaking with silent laughter, taking care not to awaken the sleeping boy.

Tom's face twitched nervously. After a little one eye opened ever so little then closed warily. The girls did not observe the movement of the eyelid. Then all of a sudden things began to happen. Tom, with incredible quickness, leaped to his feet, and began laying about him with a folded bed spread. Mollie was the first to go down under the attack. The others tried to get away from that sturdily wielded spread, but were not quick enough, however. Tom did considerable execution with his unwieldly weapon before the girls finally threw themselves upon him. Then Tom went down and out. The girls dragged him to the stairway and started him sliding down the stairs, feet first. With faces flushed, eyes sparkling, brushing truant wisps of hair from their foreheads, the girls returned to their exploration of the old chests. First Olive closed and locked the door that opened onto the staircase.

"There! I think we shall have peace now," she announced.

Suddenly Barbara uttered a sharp little cry.

"Girls! Girls! Come here! Oh, come here!"

The girls with one accord rushed pell-mell across the garret. Excitement reigned for a few seconds.

"I've found it! I've found it!" shouted Barbara.

"Found the treasure?" cried a chorus of voices.

"It's here, here!" she exclaimed, waving the little leather-bound journal above her head.

"What have you found?" demanded Olive, showing less excitement than her companions.

"This entry. It means something. I don't know just what, but I know it means something."

"Read it, read it!" demanded the girls.

"The item is a month later than the one I found in the journal in which they were afraid the Indians were going to make trouble. Listen to this. If you don't think I have found something you are not half so smart as I had thought." Barbara hitched a little closer to the window and with her back to the light read from the journal the following entry:

"'To My Heirs: I am fleeing with my family, to the fort. The future looks dark. Should I not return, others of my family one day will come here and take possession, provided the savages do not destroy the old place, which is not probable, as the spirit of a long dead Indian chief is said to make his home here.'"

"I knew all the time there were ghosts here," interrupted Mollie.

"Wearing false faces," added Grace under her breath.

"There are further directions. 'Search and you shall find. I cannot be more explicit save to say that what is here is well worth years of endeavor,'" Barbara read on. "'I have a feeling that I shall see the old place no more. Remember, that to every people its own dead are sacred and be governed accordingly.'"

Barbara glanced slowly up at the solemn faces above her.

"Is that all?" asked Olive.

"Yes. That is the last entry in the journal, showing that the former Mr. Presby did not return, as you already have told us that he did not."

"What do you make of it, dear?" questioned Olive thoughtfully.

"It is a clue and a direction to the buried treasure. There can be no doubt of that."

"Yes, but we don't understand it," spoke up Ruth. "I doubt if we ever shall."

"It's my opinion that Mr. T. W. P. wasn't in his right mind when he wrote that," declared Mollie with emphasis. "I think the Indians must have gone to his head."

"This is no joking matter, Mollie," rebuked Barbara. "Can't you be serious for once in your life? We must study this."

"What do you say if I send for Mr. Stevens, girls?" cried Olive. "He has studied this mystery more thoroughly than anyone else and he will no doubt understand the veiled allusion to the treasure. Suppose we copy it so we can read it more easily. Wait! I'll get a pencil."

Olive ran downstairs to her room, now not a little excited.

"I've sent Tom after Bob Stevens," she called, as she burst into the attic on her return. "Now read it to me and I will put it down."

"Perhaps I had better do that," answered Bab, reaching for the pencil. "I know the writing better than you do and I want to make the copy exactly like the original. There," she added, after having carefully copied the extract from the journal.

Olive regarded it perplexedly, Grace, Mollie and Ruth bending over her shoulder as she read and reread the extract from the old Presby diary.

"I must show this to father and mother," exclaimed Olive suddenly, as she whisked out of the room with Ruth, Mollie and Grace racing after her. Barbara, once more absorbed in the journal over which she was bending with wrinkled forehead, did not seem to realize that she had been left alone.

"Oh, if it should be true! If it should lead us to the treasure! If we could save Treasureholme for the Presbys it would be glorious." Barbara got up and began pacing back and forth. She saw nothing of the dingy garret room. Her imagination was traveling at express-train speed. Bab stood leaning back against the heavy wainscoting, with her eyes fixed on the ceiling, thinking.

"Oh, Barbara!" called Ruth's voice from the foot of the stairway.

"Yes?"

"Come down. Mercy! What was that?" A mighty crash shook the old house to its foundations. The shock seemed to come from above. Ruth sped up the stairs on winged feet. Those below stairs heard her utter a frightened scream.

"Come! Oh, come quickly!" cried Ruth Stuart in a voice of terror.

CHAPTER XIII

THE MYSTERY OF THE ATTIC

THE sound of running feet was heard on the floor below following Ruth's cry for help. Olive, Mollie and Grace had heard it from the foot of the stairs on the ground floor. Mr. and Mrs. Presby, sitting in the dining room, had also heard the cry and started for the stairs. Tom, who was down in the cellar, heard the girls running, and started up the stairs three steps at a time, instinctively realizing that something was wrong. His first thought was that the girls in the garret had set the house on fire.

The three girls fairly tore up the stairs to the attic in response to Ruth's cry, getting in each other's way on the narrow stairs as they ran. Tom was close at their heels, while his father and mother followed more slowly.

At first they could distinguish nothing but Ruth's figure dimly outlined in a haze of dust that filled the air.

"Fire!" cried Grace.

"No!" roared Tom. "It's dust. Somebody's been kicking up a fine smudge here. What's the matter? Have you folks gone crazy?"

"Ruth! Ruth! What is it?" cried Olive.

"It's Bab," moaned Ruth.

"Bab?" cried the girls.

For the first time since reaching the attic their thoughts turned to Barbara Thurston. But where was she? Nowhere in sight. Mr. Presby came limping into the room, followed by his wife very much out of breath.

"Wha—wha—what is the cause of all this uproar?" demanded Mr. Presby testily.

"It's Bab! It's Bab, I tell you," almost screamed Ruth. "Oh, what has happened?"

"That's what we would like to know," retorted Mr. Presby.

"Where is Bab?" demanded Tom, who had been nosing around the room like a terrier.

"She—she's gone," moaned Ruth. Her face was pale, her eyes wide with fright. Tom rushed to the windows, which were tightly closed.

"What fell?" he questioned sharply, halting in front of Ruth.

"I—I don't know. I—I wasn't here. I was at the foot of the garret stairs when I heard that terrible crash."

The dust, slowly settling, gave them a clearer view of the attic. Barbara Thurston was not in sight.

"What has become of Bab? Why don't you look behind the chests?" demanded Mollie, gathering up her skirts, darting here and there, kicking aside the heaps of old clothing that had been turned out on the floor.

Mollie paused with a dazed look in her eyes.

"She's gone," whispered the girl.

"Yes, she's gone, all right," answered Tom. "I know what she has done. She's played a trick on all of you. I know her. She is a sharp one. She'd catch you napping when you were looking right at her. She must have gone downstairs after you did, and——"

"No, no," protested Ruth excitedly. "She never left this attic by the stairway."

"Calm yourself, my dear," begged Mr. Presby in a somewhat more gentle voice, at the same time laying a hand on Ruth Stuart's shoulder. "Now let us understand this affair. You say Barbara was up here—she did not go downstairs with you?"

"No, no!" exclaimed Mollie. "She was reading that old journal when we went down. We left her sitting right there. Don't you remember, you asked us to call Barbara downstairs? You wanted to see the diary of old Mr. Presby, and Ruth went upstairs to call her."

"Yes, yes. Ruth, how do you know that Barbara was here when you called to her?"

"Because she answered me," replied Ruth.

"What next? Did her voice sound as if she were here in the attic?"

"Yes. I know she was here."

"Was that when you cried out?"

"No. That awful crash came a few seconds after she had answered me. I ran up here as fast as my feet would carry me. At first the dust was so thick I was unable to make out anything clearly. I called to Bab but she did not answer me. I then ran about the room in search of her, thinking that she had fallen and hurt herself. But she wasn't here," wailed Ruth. "Oh, what shall I do?"

"Calm yourself. That is the first thing to be done. There is something mysterious about this. I wish Bob Stevens were here."

"I sent Tom for him. Did you see Mr. Stevens, Tom?"

"No. I sent word by one of the hired hands," admitted Tom sheepishly. "I—I wanted to do some work in the cellar."

"Then go at once," commanded Mr. Presby sternly.

"Wait!" exclaimed Ruth. "I'll drive the car, storm or no storm. The cold air will help me to brace up. How far is it to Mr. Stevens' house?"

"Mile and a half," answered Tom.

"Come with me, Tommy. We will be there and back in twenty minutes. Do you know the way?"

"Yes, he knows the way. He knows too much about everything in these parts," answered Mr. Presby testily. "I will telephone to Mr. Stuart."

"Oh, don't, please. At least—not un—until I get back. Per—perhaps Mr. Stevens may find her."

"He will, if anyone can," declared Olive. Everyone in the room was overwhelmed with the mystery of it all. That a person could disappear so completely from a room that had only one entrance and with that entrance guarded at the moment passed all comprehension.

Once more Mollie set herself to examining every nook and corner of the room. She even raised the lids of the closed trunks and chests, thinking that possibly Barbara might have hidden in one of them. There was no trace whatever of the missing girl.

"Has anyone found the diary?" questioned Olive.

"Could it be that she fell through a trap in the floor?" queried Grace.

"There are no traps in the floor," answered Mr. Presby sharply.

"If there were, and Bab had fallen in, she would have dropped into one of our rooms," explained Olive. "I believe I will go all over the house," she decided as an afterthought.

"We will go with you," declared Grace. "Oh, Bab, Bab; where are you?" Grace broke into a paroxysm of heart-breaking sobs. This was too much for Mollie, who began sobbing also.

"Come, come, girls; this won't do," chided Olive. "We must keep our heads clear. Something has happened to Bab, but I'll venture to say that she is all right, no matter where she is."

"But—but if she is all right, why doesn't she call to us?" questioned Mollie, gazing at Olive through her tears.

Olive was unable to answer that question. The same thought had occurred to her. Now Mr. Presby began thumping the sides of the room with his cane. They understood his purpose and waited in breathless silence until he had gone all the way around the room.

"All sounds alike," he announced. "I didn't know but there might be another of those secret passages up here. I see, however, that it is not possible. Come, there is nothing to be gained by remaining here. Come, Mollie. Do not take it too much to heart," soothed Mr. Presby.

Mollie was now leaning against the wall with head buried in her arms, crying softly. The others had started for the stairway. A servant came up the stairs and announced that Ruth had telephoned from the Stevens place saying that Bob Stevens had gone to Brightwaters, and that she was going there to find him.

"Good gracious! What was that?" screamed Mrs. Presby, gripping her husband's arm with both hands as a mighty crash shook the building. A violent current of air smote them, another cloud of suffocating dust filled the air.

"Mollie's gone, too!" screamed Grace Carter.

CHAPTER XIV

TOMMY TAKES A WILD RIDE

FOR a moment the little group stood regarding one another in horror-stricken silence, then by common consent they all made for the stairway. Mr. Presby was half carrying, half dragging his wife, who was in a state of collapse. All had lost their heads completely. They did not know at what moment that terrible mysterious force might whisk them all out of existence. Instead of remaining calmly to solve the reason for Mollie's disappearance before their very eyes, all hands were fleeing from the scene of the double disaster. Mollie had not even cried out. She had simply gone, followed by that mighty crash. That was all they knew about it.

They did not halt until they had reached the ground floor, where Mr. Presby called a servant to summon the neighbors and summon them quickly. Fifteen minutes later the neighbors began to arrive. With them were two or three strangers, whose offers to join in the search through the house Mr. Presby politely declined, as he was suspicious of all strangers. Those of the neighbors who were friends of long standing were given free rein to search the house and grounds as thoroughly as they wished. They took full advantage of the opportunity, delving into every nook and corner.

In the meantime Ruth Stuart with the shivering Tommy by her side was driving her automobile across the country. There was no storm curtain in place now. Even the wind shield had been turned down because the snow clouded it so Ruth could not get a clear sight ahead. As it was, she could see no more than a rod or two in advance. She took the storm full on the right side of her face. The girl's eyes and nerves were steady now. Her touch on the steering wheel was light, for at that speed a heavy hand might have ditched the outfit.

Country people on the road were startled by a rush of wind and a shadowy monster shooting past them with a snort, occasionally sending their horses off the highway in frightened leaps. But Ruth Stuart's eyes never wavered from the straight path ahead. Evidently she had forgotten her promise to herself to drive with her car under more perfect control. Every ounce of speed that Mr. A. Bubble possessed was being used on the present run.

Tommy's eyes were full of snow, his lips were blue, his hands were gripping the cushions until he had no feeling left in them.

"Tell me when we get near to the place," commanded Ruth in a sharp, incisive tone.

"Ju-s-s-st around the nu-nu-next turn," chattered Thomas. "He's at Martin's ranch."

Ruth turned the air into her siren. A wild, weird wail rose from the horn. Tommy shivered more than ever. That sound always did make the hair rise right up on the crown of his head. Ruth kept the siren going. Rounding the bend at top speed, her siren wailing, she made enough noise to be plainly heard above the storm. Taking careful note of her position, she ran up the drive into the yard, slowing down just as she saw two men come from the house bare-headed.

"Jump in, quick!" she cried to Bob Stevens. "Trouble!"

Bob was quick-witted. He understood that something was wrong. He caught one of the canopy braces and swung himself in over the closed door.

The car was still in motion. Without a word of further explanation, Ruth advanced her spark. When they rounded into the road the snow from the skidding rear wheels flew up into the air higher than the peak of Jud Martin's hip-roofed barn. Stevens instinctively gripped the automobile body.

"Put a blanket over your head," called back Ruth.

"I can stand it bare-headed here, if you can keep your seat in this cold wind up ahead," answered Stevens calmly. "What is it?"

"I'll tell you when you get there. I haven't time now."

Bob asked no further questions. They were racing back to Treasureholme at a rate of speed that would have left the Pacific Coast Limited some distance to the rear in a very short time.

Boom! A report like that of a cannon startled Tommy. Boom! Another similar report and Tom was on the verge of leaping from the car.

"Tire's gone. Rear tire's down," called Stevens. Ruth nodded, but he could not see that she reduced the speed of the car in the slightest degree. Bob Stevens never had had such a ride as that, even on a railroad train, but he declined to give in to his inclination to warn her to slow down. If a young woman had the nerve to drive a car at that speed he surely should have sufficient pluck to ride behind her.

Tommy had tightened his grip on the cushion. His body was swaying from side to side, now and then humping up into the air as the wheels passed over a hummock.

"I shall go on as long as the rims hold," flung back Ruth in acknowledgment of his warning about the tires.

The young man knew very well that the rims were likely to be crunched in like egg shells at any second. That would mean the complete wreck of the car and no doubt the instant death of the passengers at the speed they were now traveling. The soft, springy snow that covered the ground protected the rims from the hard road somewhat. He observed, however, that in rounding sharp turns in the road, Ruth steadied the car with her foot brake. She was driving with great skill, even though the pace was a reckless one. Bob gazed at the back of her head, a great admiration for her pluck welling up within him. But he felt sorry for Tommy. It was plainly to be seen that Thomas Warrington Presby was not having the happiest ride imaginable.

"Almost there," encouraged Ruth. "If anything happens, never mind me, but run for the house as fast as you can go."

He did not answer, but he was thinking deeply. Something of a very serious nature must have occurred at Treasureholme to make necessary all this haste. He did not know that they had sent for him because of the great confidence the Presbys reposed in him. It would have made little difference to the resourceful Bob Stevens if he had known.

The car lurched into the drive, past the scene of Ruth's previous disaster, where the broken posts and twisted gates still lay at one side of the drive. None of the occupants of the car heeded these evidences of a former smash-up. Ruth's eyes were on the drive. Bob's eyes were on the house, while Tommy's eyes were so full of snow that they weren't fixed on anything in particular.

The car came to a jolting stop in front of the Presby home. At that instant the rear of the car settled with a crunching sound.

"There go the rims," said Ruth calmly. "But I don't care now. Please hurry."

Bob lifted Tommy to the ground, the boy being on the side that Stevens had leaped from just as the rims were going down. He then assisted Ruth out. Tommy rubbed the snow from his eyes, blinked rapidly and gazed at Ruth.

"Never no more for mine," he declared, with ungrammatical force.

Ruth tried to run up the steps. She halted suddenly. Her body swayed unsteadily. Stevens thought she was going to collapse. He took firm hold of her arm.

"Let me assist you," he said politely.

"I—I am all right," muttered Ruth. "Just a little dizzy from watching the road so closely," then she crumpled up on the steps of Treasureholme.

Bob Stevens picked her up and carried the girl into the house, followed by Tom, still blinking. Tom was choking a little, too. Everything had been moving so rapidly that, active as was his mind, he hadn't been able to follow matters very clearly.

The door swung open. Bob handed his burden over to Mrs. Presby.

"She's played out. Better put her to bed. What's wrong?"

"No, no, no!" protested Ruth. "Give me a drink of something hot. I—I'm chilled through." She staggered to one side of the hall, waved assistance aside and leaned against the wall with closed eyes for a few seconds. Then Ruth straightened up suddenly.

"Bab! Have they found her?" she cried.

Mrs. Presby shook her head. Grace came running down the hall. She threw herself into Ruth's arms.

"Oh, Ruth! Mollie's gone, too!" she sobbed.

"What's this?" demanded Stevens. "Tell me quickly what has occurred."

Mrs. Presby told him very briefly all that she knew about the series of disasters that had befallen them. The hall was fairly well filled with neighbors, all more or less helpless. With bulging eyes and open mouths, they were listening and gaping without doing anything on their own account.

Bob dashed toward the stairs without asking another question. Neighbors, the Presbys and the three girls followed him. Mr. Presby was the last in line. He thumped up the stairs with the aid of his stick. Bob had halted near the door of the attic, where he stood surveying the room with critical eyes.

"Get lights! It's dark here," he directed sharply. "Now tell me just what occurred as far as you know, please. Who discovered the loss of Miss Thurston and her sister?"

Ruth told him what she knew of Bab's disappearance. Olive related the story of how Mollie had suddenly vanished.

"They certainly didn't vanish into thin air. They are still in this house and I am going to find them, even if I have to tear the house down, with Mr. Presby's permission, of course."

"Get the girls. Go as far as you like. Tear down the old house if you must. I shall not have use for it very much longer."

Bob groped about on the floor. His hands found a broken stove poker. With this he began sounding the walls about waist high, thumping and listening, listening and thumping. He paused suddenly.

"Where was Miss Mollie standing when you last saw her?" he demanded, turning to the group.

"There on the south side," answered Olive.

"Something has been there against the wall for some time, hasn't there? I see a mark on the wall."

"I don't recall whether or not there was anything there," answered Mr. Presby.

"Yes, there was an old dresser there. I moved it aside to-day to get some things that had fallen behind it. We were cleaning out the garret. That's the dresser over yonder," Olive informed him.

The young man did not look at the piece of furniture indicated by Miss Presby. Instead, he strode over to the point where the dresser had stood for no one knew how long. It was a dresser belonging to some of the Presby ancestors. It never had been disturbed during the present owner's occupancy.