didn't fancy that I was a
gipsy. I thought perhaps I was the driver of a fly, and that when I blew
my whistle Nell would be like another driver coming to me. That's what I
thought," concluded Bunny. But as his metaphors were always extremely
mixed and confusing, no one listened to him.

"You have a whistle?" said the Doctor. "Give it to me. This is a very
dangerous thing that you have done, children. Now, let me see how far I
can make the sound go. Oh, that thing! I can make a better whistle than
that with my hand."

He did so, making the moor, on the borders of which they stood, resound
with a long, shrill, powerful blast. Presently faint sounds came back in
answer, and in about a quarter of an hour Helen and her three sisters,
very tired and faint, and loitering in their steps, came slowly into
view.

Oh, yes; they were all so glad to see father, but they had not seen
Polly; no, not a trace nor sound could be discovered to lead to Polly's
whereabouts.

"But she must not spend the night alone on the moor," said the Doctor.
"No, that cannot be. Children, you must all go home directly. On your
way past the lodge, Helen, desire Simpkins and George to come with
lanterns to this place. They are to wait for me here, and when they
whistle I will answer them. After they have waited here for half an
hour, and I do not whistle back, they are to begin to search the moor on
their own account. Now go home as fast as you can, my dears. I will
return when I have found Polly, not before."

The moon was very brilliant that night, and Helen's wistful face, as she
looked full at her father, caused him to bend suddenly and kiss her.
"You are my brave child, Nell. Be the bravest of all by taking the
others home now. Home, children; and to bed at once, remember. No
visiting of the drawing-room for any of you to-night."

The Doctor smiled, and kissed his hand, and a very disconsolate little
party turned in the direction of Sleepy Hollow.

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE WIFE OF MICAH JONES.

If ever there was a girl whose mind was in a confused and complex state,
that girl was Polly Maybright. Suddenly into her life of sunshine and
ease and petting, into her days of love and indulgence, came the cold
shadow of would-be justice. Polly had done wrong, and a very stern
judge, in the shape of Aunt Maria Cameron, was punishing her.

Polly had often been naughty in her life; she was an independent,
quick-tempered child; she had determina