ive, and Pompton had no reason to think the man was
not telling the truth. But he was without doubt a gypsy, and Pompton
had small respect for the veracity of the gypsy. He waited a few moments,
pretending to be interested in the man's basketry, but really considering
whether to insist on going on to the camp hidden in the trees, or whether
to believe the man's statement.

And it was at this moment that Marjorie's shrieks rang out.

"Good heavens!" cried Pompton. "What is that?"

The basket-weaver neither heard nor answered him, for the shrieks
continued, and Pompton set off at a run in the direction whence they
came. He was not quite sure it was Marjorie's voice, but there was
certainly somebody in distress, and Pompton was of a valiant nature.

The smoke issuing above the trees was sufficient guide, and his flying
steps soon brought him to the encampment. Flinging open, indeed almost
tearing down the flapping door of the tent, he strode inside.

"What's the matter here?" he began, but he could get no further, for
with a glad cry the two Maynard children flung themselves into his
out-stretched arms.

CHAPTER VI

AT GRANDMA SHERWOOD'S

Aside from his threatening face, red with rage, and stormy with
indignation, Pompton's terrifying aspect was increased by the chauffeur's
costume which he wore. His goggles were pushed up on his brow, but his
eyes darted vengeance, and the three gypsy women were completely cowed at
the sight of him.

"You shall pay for this outrage!" he exclaimed; "and don't think you will
be let down easy! Kidnapping is a crime that is well punished, and your
punishment shall be to the full! I shall take these children away now,
but don't think you can escape! I will see to that! Where are your men
folks?"

Pompton was a large man, more than six feet high, and heavy in
proportion, and as he towered above the frightened gypsy women, they
could find no words to answer him.

"I'll find them for myself!" he exclaimed, and taking the children by
either hand, he hurried them out of the tent.

As Pompton had surmised, the men had run away to the woods, and hidden
themselves, for no trace of them could be seen. The old basket-maker,
too, had disappeared, and there was nothing to prevent their departure.

"Miss Marjorie, you're a wonder!" Pompton exclaimed, as they crossed the
little bridge and made for the road. "Now, how did you think to shout the
very lungs out of you like that?"

"It