she could slip out that way, she could make a run for
the picnic grounds, but she dared not try to pass the two men who had
just appeared. The few words of their conversation proved them to be
lawless. Noiselessly she slipped into the closet and drew the door
almost shut. She would hide until they had gone. They were not likely to
linger long in the cottage.

Minute after minute went by, but the intruders showed no signs of
leaving.

"What shall I do?" Grace breathed, wringing her hands. "They're real,
downright burglars of the worst sort, and they're planning a robbery.
It's getting late, too, and the girls will soon be going back. Oh,
I must get out of here, but I won't try to go until I find out whose
house they're going to rob."

The men talked on, but, listen as she might, Grace could get no clue.

"There ain't a soul on the joint except the judge and one old servant,"
growled Bill. "The rest o' the bunch'll be at the weddin' of one o' the
girls. I laid low and heard 'em talkin' about it to-day. The judge's got
money in the house, too. He always keeps it around, and that old Putnam
place is pretty well back from the road."

Grace waited to hear no more. She had obtained the information she
sought. They were going to rob and perhaps murder good old Judge Putnam.

Slipping quietly out of the closet, she approached the back door and
cautiously took hold of the bolt. To her joy it moved easily. Exercising
the greatest care in sliding it back, she lifted the latch. It made no
sound, and, holding her breath, she softly swung open the door and ran
on tiptoe around the corner of the house. Throwing away her bouquet as
she ran, she made for a clump of underbrush at one side of the cottage.
Here she paused, and hearing no disturbance from inside, she continued
her flight. But she had lost her sense of direction, and after fifteen
minutes' wandering was about to despair of finding her way, when she
espied the honeysuckle bush that she had stripped earlier in the
afternoon. This put her on the right track, but she was farther away
from the picnic grounds than she had supposed, and when tired and
breathless she at last reached them, it was only to find them deserted.
The party had gone back to town without her.

Grace stood staring about her in blank dismay. It was nearing seven
o'clock, and she was twelve miles from Oakdale. Why hadn't the girls
waited? Grace felt ready to cry, then the vision of the poor old judge,
al