ng exactly what to do with this little termagant.

And strange to say, Marjorie's ruse had succeeded.

For when the Maynards reached Pelton, and had found the inn where they
were to lunch, Pompton, the chauffeur, had expressed himself as unwilling
to sit there quietly and await the arrival of King and Marjorie.

"The poor children will be done out," he said to Mr. Maynard, "and by
your leave, sir, I'll just take the car, and run back a few rods and pick
them up."

"That's good of you, Pompton," said Mr. Maynard, appreciatively. "They
can't be far away now, but they'll be glad of a lift."

So Pompton turned the car about, and started back along the road he had
just come. To his surprise, he did not meet the children as soon as he
had expected, and as he continued his route without seeing them, he began
to be really alarmed. He passed the halfway sign, and went nearly to the
place where he had left them and had taken in the lame girl.

"There's something happened to them," he said to himself. "My word! I
knew those children ought not to be left to themselves! They're too full
of mischief. Like as not they've trailed off into the woods, and how can
I ever find them?"

Wondering what he had better do, Pompton turned the car around, and
slowly went back toward Pelton. At every crossroad or side path into
the woods he paused and shouted, but heard no response. When at last he
came near the place where the children had really turned off toward
the brook, he stopped and looked about. Seeing smoke issuing from among
the trees at a little distance, he thought, "That's a gypsy camp. Now
wouldn't it be just like those youngsters to trail in there? Anyway it's
the most likely place, and I'm going to have a look."

Leaving his car by the side of the road, Pompton struck into the
field, and soon came to the little bridge just beyond which the old
basket-weaver still sat.

"Have you seen anything of two children?" Pompton inquired, civilly.

"No," growled the man, looking up and frowning a little.

"Well, I'm fairly sure they came in here from the road about half an hour
ago. Perhaps you didn't notice them. I'll just take a look round." He
started in the direction of the camp, but the man called him back.

"I tell you no children have been near here," he said, in a voice
slightly less surly. "If they had, they'd have had to cross this bridge,
and I couldn't miss seeing them. I've been here two hours."

This seemed conclus