the scrap. "Well, the mystery deepens, but I do not see that
we can do anything to solve it."

They talked it over for some time, but could come to no other
conclusion. Grace saved the scrap of paper, and soon, having bidden
good-bye to Mrs. Meckelburn, they were on their way again, with Mollie
at the wheel.

Gradually their nerves, upset by their adventure, resumed their poise
under the influence of the fresh air and sunshine, and the gloomy
atmosphere raised by the girl's accident, passed away.

They had made the turn into a road that would lead them to Deepdale when
they came in sight of a man standing in the road beside a small, and
rather gaudily painted wagon. He seemed to be looking in the dust for
something, and Mollie, seeing him, slowed up, remarking:

"Perhaps he has a break-down. Let's ask if we can help him."

The appearance of the man, in some ways, was enough to invite the
confidence of four girls, and in others was not. He had long, and very
white hair, fluffy and wavy, and was dressed in a shabby suit of black,
but his face had hard, cruel lines in it, as though he were in the habit
of imposing his will on others.

A look at his wagon showed the character of his trade, for it was
brilliantly lettered with such devices and mottoes as--"Bennington's
Hair is All His Own." "Use His Restorer and Be Likewise." Another was:
"Bennington's Restorer Really Restores."

"Have you lost something?" asked Mollie, bringing the car to a stop. He
looked up quickly, and smiled, but the smile only seemed to make his
face harder, instead of softening it.

"Yes, ladies," he said with a smirk and bow, taking off his broad
brimmed hat, and running his fingers through his hair, making it fluff
out more than ever, "I have lost a bolt out of part of my wagon, and I'm
afraid to go on lest I break down. It dropped somewhere in the dust, but
I can't find it."

"I have a supply of spare bolts in my tool box," spoke Mollie, "I'll
give you one, and that will save you looking any more."

"Thank you, lady. It will be just what I want." From the tool box on the
run board he soon selected a bolt that fitted his wagon.

"And now let me repay your kindness," he said. "I am, as you see, a
traveling peddler of hair tonic. May I present you with a bottle?" and
he offered Mollie one.

"No, thank you," and she laughed merrily. "It is something that I never
use."

"You all have fine hair," returned the peddler; "but at that it woul